* * * * *
When I awoke, blinding white sunlight was bursting into the room from
between half closed slats in the Venetian blinds, sending searing pain
through my dehydrated eyes into my aching brain. A window was half open
behind the blinds. A bird was singing just outside the window, its song
a shrill, jarring discordance to my tortured eardrums.
I looked blankly around the room, feeling that something was missing.
The sight of the pitcher with its red liquid, and the glass beside it,
brought back memory. What was missing was Dr. Leopold Moriss standing
over me asking his eternal question.
I cursed in a low mumble, hating him for even that. He had kept up his
torture until I figured out something, and had ended it before I could
put my plan into action. He was a dancing, taunting opponent who struck
painful blows with ease, and danced out of reach when I found a way to
fight back.
"Shut up!" I shouted at the bird, and felt a small sense of triumph
when it obeyed.
Getting out of bed, I went to the door and opened it cautiously. There
was no one outside. From somewhere in the house came the all too
familiar sound of Dr. Moriss' voice. It was interrupted by Paula's,
raised angrily. I left my door open, sneaking along the hall to the
head of the stairs, until I could make out what was being said.
"... stop torturing him," Paula's voice came, angry and insistent.
"It's the only way, Paula," the doctor's voice said, as unperturbed as
ever, even in the face of his daughter's obvious anger. "A fear that
silences a man, makes him remain silent while his employers brand him a
thief and blackball him from his profession, that drives him down the
road to alcoholism, can't be broken down with kindness nor anything
less than complete destruction of his ability to fight."
"It isn't human!" Paula's voice shot back. "If you keep it up
I'll--I'll hate you as much as January does, even though you are my
father."
"I won't have to keep it up much longer," her father replied, and for
the first time I heard a note of human emotion in his tones. "When he
breaks down and gets the load off his mind he'll get over the past few
years and be himself again. I think you're half falling for him. It
wouldn't be any good being married to an alcoholic who is incurable
because he's hiding the thing that made him an alcoholic to begin with."
His next words shocked their way into my startled thoughts.
"But my motive isn't that humanitarian and you know it," he said,
returning to his school-teacherish, lecturing voice. "I've repeated
January's experiments. Out in my laboratory I have the completed and
tested robot body exactly like my own, all ready for the transfer of my
mind. I could go out there right this minute, and come in again in less
than half an hour in that immortal mechanical body. But I don't dare to
_until I find out what made January afraid_."
My turbulent thoughts settled into a state of wondering confusion.
If he had gone that far why didn't he know what had made me afraid?
Could it be--? Suddenly I knew! He hadn't discovered that _one last
refinement_. That was it! I felt like laughing. But my attention was
jerked back to the conversation below.
"I don't care," Paula's voice said doggedly. "I don't care if you
never finish. It's inhuman anyway--to discard the body you were born
in and transfer the electronic pattern of your mind and consciousness
to a mass of non-living colloid dielectric perched inside the head of
a robot made of stainless steel bones, plastic muscles, and copper
nerves. You've got to stop torturing January."
"I won't have to after a couple more hours," Dr. Moriss said. "I'm
going to wake him up and get him to drink some of that tomato juice
with a little seasoning in it designed to make him sicker than he is.
A few glasses of that and pounding my repeated question at him a few
more times should do it."
I stole back to my room and grinned at the tomato juice. Did you ever
put a jigsaw together and get a flash of insight that made the pieces
fall into place suddenly, completing the puzzle almost by itself? That
pitcher of tomato juice was the last piece. Everything fit, including
that.
I would be able to tell my lie, and make Dr. Leopold Moriss believe
it. Then--I would _help_ him. My wild laughter burst into my ears. By
an effort of will I shut it off and climbed back into bed, simulating
sleep, my ears tuned for the first sound of the doctor's coming.
* * * * *
The door opened. After a moment of suspense during which I kept my
breathing slow and deep it closed softly. Padded footsteps came across
the rug.
"January!" The doctor's voice was impersonal and insistent. His hand
was gripped on my shoulder, shaking me. "Why were you afraid, January?"
I kept my eyes closed for a moment, mumbling protests. Inside I was
laughing to myself, gloatingly. His voice was no longer torture. It was
the senseless repetition of a parrot.
Suddenly it angered me. I opened my eyes, glaring, a corner of my mind
thrilling to the beautiful way my emotions were giving authenticity to
my acting.
"Why are you afraid, January?" the doctor repeated, his calm face
hovering above me.
I shoved his hand away, sneering at him, and sat up. The movement sent
stabs of pain through my head. I gripped my head in my hands, groaning.
"Drink this," Dr. Moriss ordered.
I looked up. He was holding the glass of tomato juice toward me,
the tomato juice containing something to make me sicker. I felt the
sneering smile distort the sensitive skin of my face as I reached out
deliberately and took the glass from him. I looked into his dead eyes
while I lifted it to my lips. Then I drank it.