"I want to talk to him."
"I see." Bish slowly drew some forms from the dispenser on his desk. "There are a few routine papers that have to be filled out first, of course. Just how long did you want to speak to him?"
Ed Doyle gazed steadily into Doctor Bish's bland face. "I want to talk to him several hours. Alone."
"Alone?"
"No robots around."
Doctor Bish said nothing. He stroked the papers he held, creasing the edges with his nail. "Mr Doyle," he said carefully, "I wonder if you're in a proper emotional state to visit your son. You have recently come in from the colonies?"
"I left Proxima three weeks ago."
"Then you have just arrived here in Los Angeles?"
"That's right."
"And you've come to see your son? Or have you other business?"
"I came for my son."
"Mr Doyle, Peter is at a very critical stage. He has just recently been transferred to the Biology Station for his higher training. Up to now his training has been general. What we call the non-differentiated stage. Recently he has entered a new period. Within the last six months Peter has begun advanced work along his specific line, that of organic chemistry. He will -"
"What does Peter think about it?"
Bish frowned. "I don't understand, sir."
"How does he feel? Is it what he wants?"
"Mr Doyle, your son has the possibility of becoming one of the world's finest bio-chemists. In all the time we have worked with human beings, in their training and development, we have never come across a more alert and integrated faculty for the assimilation of data, construction of theory, formulation of material, than that which your son possesses. All tests indicate he will rapidly rise to the top of his chosen field. He is still only a child, Mr Doyle, but it is the children who must be trained."
Doyle stood up. "Tell me where I can find him. I'll talk to him for two hours and then the rest is up to him."
"The rest?"
Doyle clamped his jaw shut. He shoved his hands in his pockets. His face was flushed and set grim with determination. In the nine years he had grown much heavier, more stocky and florid. His thinning hair had turned iron-gray. His clothes were dumpy and unpressed. He looked stubborn.
Doctor Bish sighed. "All right, Mr Doyle. Here are your papers. The law allows you to observe your boy whenever you make proper application. Since he is out of his non-differentiated stage, you may also speak to him for a period of ninety minutes."
"Alone?"
"You can take him away from the Station grounds for that length of time." Doctor Bish pushed the papers over to Doyle. "Fill these out, and I'll have Peter brought here."
He looked up steadily at the man standing before him.
"I hope you'll remember that any emotional experience at this crucial stage may do much to inhibit his development. He has chosen his field, Mr Doyle. He must be permitted to grow along his selected lines, unhindered by situational blocks. Peter has been in contact with our technical staff throughout his entire training period. He is not accustomed to contact with other human beings. So please be careful."
Doyle said nothing. He grabbed up the papers and plucked out his fountain pen.
He hardly recognized his son when the two robot attendants brought him out of the massive concrete Station building and deposited him a few yards from Ed's parked surface car.
Ed pushed the door open. "Pete!" His heart was thumping heavily, painfully. He watched his son come toward the car, frowning in the bright sunlight. It was late afternoon, about four. A faint breeze blew across the parking lot, rustling a few papers and bits of debris.
Peter stood slim and straight. His eyes were large, deep brown, like Ed's. His hair was light, almost blond. More like Janet's. He had Ed's jaw, though, the firm line, clean and well chiseled. Ed grinned at him. Nine years it had been. Nine years since the robot attendant had lifted the rack up from the conveyor pot to show him the little wrinkled baby, red as a boiled lobster.
Peter had grown. He was not a baby any longer. He was a young boy, straight and proud, with firm features and wide, clear eyes.
"Pete," Ed said. "How the hell are you?"
The boy stopped by the door of the car. He gazed at Ed calmly. His eyes flickered, taking in the car, the robot driver, the heavy set man in the rumpled tweed suit grinning nervously at him.
"Get in. Get inside." Ed moved over. "Come on. We have places to go."
The boy was looking at him again. Suddenly Ed was conscious of his baggy suit, his unshined shoes, his gray stubbled chin. He flushed, yanking out his red pocket-handkerchief and mopping his forehead uneasily. "I just got off the ship, Pete. From Proxima. I haven't had time to change. I'm a little dusty. Long trip."
Peter nodded. "4.3 light years, isn't it?"
"Takes three weeks. Get in. Don't you want to get in?"
Peter slid in beside him. Ed slammed the door.
"Let's go." The car started up. "Drive -" Ed peered out the window. "Drive up there. By the hill. Out of town." He turned to Pete. "I hate big cities. I can't get used to them."
"There are no large cities in the colonies, are there?" Pete murmured. "You're unused to urban living."
Ed settled back. His heart had begun to slow down to its normal beat. "No, as a matter of fact it's the other way around, Pete."
"How do you mean?"
"I went to Prox because I couldn't stand cities."
Peter said nothing. The surface car was climbing, going up a steel highway into the hills. The Station, huge and impressive, spread out like a heap of cement bricks directly below them. A few cars moved along the road, but not many. Most transportation was by air, now. Surface cars had begun to disappear.
The road leveled off. They moved along the ridge of the hills. Trees and bushes rose on both sides of them. "It's nice up here," Ed said.
"Yes."
"How - how have you been? I haven't seen you for a long time. Just once. Just after you were born."
"I know. Your visit is listed in the records."
"You been getting along all right?"
"Yes. Quite well."
"They treating you all right?"
"Of course."
After a while Ed leaned forward. "Stop here," he said to the robot driver.
The car slowed down, pulling over to the side of the road. "Sir, there is nothing -"
"This is fine. Let us out. We'll walk from here."
The car stopped. The door slid reluctantly open. Ed stepped quickly out of the car, on to the pavement. Peter got out slowly after him, puzzled. "Where are we?"
"No place." Ed slammed the door. "Go on back to town," he said to the driver. "We won't need you."
The car drove off. Ed walked to the side of the road. Peter came after him. The hill dropped away, falling down to the beginnings of the city below. A vast panorama stretched out, the great metropolis in the late afternoon sun. Ed took a deep breath, throwing his arms out. He took off his coat and tossed it over his shoulder.
"Come on." He started down the hillside. "Here we go."
"Where?"
"For a walk. Let's get off this damn road."
They climbed down the side of the hill, walking carefully, holding on to the grass and roots jutting out from the soil. Finally they came to a level place by a big sycamore tree. Ed threw himself down on the ground, grunting and wiping sweat from his neck.
"Here. Let's sit here."
Peter sat down carefully, a little way off. Ed's blue shirt was stained with sweat. He unfastened his tie and loosened his collar. Presently he searched through his coat pockets. He brought out his pipe and tobacco.
Peter watched him fill the pipe and light it with a big sulphur match. "What's that?" he murmured.
"This? My pipe." Ed grinned, sucking at the pipe. "Haven't you ever seen a pipe?"
"No."
"This is a good pipe. I got this when I first went out to Proxima. That was a long time ago, Pete. It was twenty-fi
ve years ago. I was just nineteen, then. Only about twice as old as you."
He put his tobacco away and leaned back, his heavy face serious, preoccupied.
"Just nineteen. I went out there as a plumber. Repair and sales, when I could make a sale. Terran Plumbing. One of those big ads you used to see. Unlimited opportunities. Virgin lands. Make a million. Gold in the streets." Ed laughed.
"How did you make out?"
"Not bad. Not bad at all. I own my own line, now, you know. I service the whole Proxima system. We do repairing, maintenance, building, construction. I've got six hundred people working for me. It took a long time. It didn't come easy."
"No."
"Hungry?"
Peter turned. "What?"
"Are you hungry?" Ed pulled a brown paper parcel from his coat and unwrapped it. "I still have a couple of sandwiches from the trip. When I come in from Prox I bring some food along with me. I don't like to buy in the diner. They skin you." He held out the parcel. "Want one?"
"No thank you."
Ed took a sandwich and began to eat. He ate nervously, glancing at his son. Peter sat silently, a short distance off, staring ahead without expression. His smooth handsome face was blank.
"Everything all right?" Ed said.
"Yes."
"You're not cold, are you?"
"No."
"You don't want to catch cold."
A squirrel crossed in front of them, hurrying toward the sycamore tree. Ed threw it a piece of his sandwich. The squirrel ran off a way, then came back slowly. It scolded at them, standing up on its hind feet, its great gray tail flowing out behind it.
Ed laughed. "Look at him. Ever see a squirrel before?"
"I don't think so."
"It's good to come back to Terra once in a while. See some of the old things. They're going, though."
"Going?"
"Away. Destroyed. Terra is always changing." Ed waved around at the hillside. "This will be gone, some day. They'll cut down the trees. Then they'll level it. Some day they'll carve the whole range up and carry it off. Use it for fill, some place along the coast."
"That's beyond our scope," Peter said.
"What?"
"I don't receive that type of material. I think Doctor Bish told you. I'm working with bio-chemistry."
"I know," Ed murmured. "Say, how the hell did you ever get mixed up with that stuff? Bio-chemistry?"
"The tests showed that my abilities lie along those lines."
"You enjoy what you're doing?"
"What a strange thing to ask. Of course I enjoy what I'm doing. It's the work I'm fitted for."
"It seems funny as hell to me, starting a nine-year-old kid off on something like that."
"Why?"
"My God, Pete. When I was nine I was bumming around town. In school sometimes, outside mostly, wandering here and there. Playing. Reading. Sneaking into the rocket launching yards all the time." He considered. "Doing all sorts of things. When I was sixteen I hopped over to Mars. I stayed there a while. Worked as a hasher. I went on to Ganymede. Ganymede was all sewed up tight. Nothing doing there. From Ganymede I went out to Prox. Got a work-away all the way out. Big freighter."
"You stayed at Proxima?"
"I sure did. I found what I wanted. Nice place, out there. Now we're starting on to Sirius, you know." Ed's chest swelled. "I've got an outlet in the Sirius system. Little retail and service place."
"Sirius is 8.8 light years from Sol."
"It's a long way. Seven weeks from here. Rough grind. Meteor swarms. Keeps things hot all the way out."
"I can imagine."
"You know what I thought I might do?" Ed turned toward his son, his face alive with hope and enthusiasm. "I've been thinking it over. I thought maybe I'd go out there. To Sirius. It's a fine little place we have. I drew up the plans myself. Special design to fit with the characteristics of the system."
Peter nodded.
"Pete -"
"Yes?"
"Do you think maybe you'd be interested? Like to hop out to Sirius and take a look? It's a good place. Four clean planets. Never touched. Lots of room. Miles and miles of room. Cliffs and mountains. Oceans. Nobody around. Just a few colonists, families, some construction. Wide, level plains."
"How do you mean, interested?"
"In going all the way out." Ed's face was pale. His mouth twitched nervously. "I thought maybe you'd like to come along and see how things are. It's a lot like Prox was, twenty-five years ago. It's good and clean out there. No cities."
Peter smiled.
"Why are you smiling?"
"No reason." Peter stood up abruptly. "If we have to walk back to the Station we'd better start. Don't you think? It's getting late."
"Sure." Ed struggled to his feet. "Sure, but -"
"When are you going to be back in the Sol system again?"
"Back?" Ed followed after his son. Peter climbed up the hill toward the road. "Slow down, will you?"
Peter slowed down. Ed caught up with him.
"I don't know when I'll be back. I don't come here very often. No ties. Not since Jan and I separated. As a matter of fact I came here this time to -"
"This way." Peter started down the road.
Ed hurried along beside him, fastening his tie and putting his coat on, gasping for breath. "Peter, what do you say? You want to hop out to Sirius with me? Take a look? It's a nice place out there. We could work together. The two of us. If you want."
"But I already have my work."
"That stuff? That damn chemistry stuff?"
Peter smiled again.
Ed scowled, his face dark red. "Why are you smiling?" he demanded. His son did not answer. "What's the matter? What's so damn funny?"
"Nothing," Peter said. "Don't become excited. We have a long walk down." He increased his pace slightly, his supple body swinging in long, even strides. "It's getting late. We have to hurry."
Doctor Bish examined his wristwatch, pushing back his pinstriped coat sleeve. "I'm glad you're back."
"He sent the surface car away," Peter murmured. "We had to walk down the hill on foot."
It was dark outside. The Station lights were coming on automatically, along the rows of buildings and laboratories.
Doctor Bish rose from his desk. "Sign this, Peter. Bottom of this form."
Peter signed. "What is it?"
"Certifies you saw him in accord with the provisions of the law. We didn't try to obstruct you in any way."
Peter handed the paper back. Bish filed it away with the others. Peter moved toward the door of the doctor's office. "I'll go. Down to the cafeteria for dinner."
"You haven't eaten?"
"No."
Doctor Bish folded his arms, studying the boy. "Well?" he said. "What do you think of him? This is the first time you've seen your father. It must have been strange for you. You've been around us so much, in all your training and work."
"It was - unusual."
"Did you gain any impressions? Was there anything you particularly noticed?"
"He was very emotional. There was a distinct bias through everything he said and did. A distortion present, virtually uniform."
"Anything else?"
Peter hesitated, lingering at the door. He broke into a smile. "One other thing."
"What was it?"
"I noticed -" Peter laughed. "I noticed a distinct odor about him. A constant pungent smell, all the time I was with him."
"I'm afraid that's true of all of them," Doctor Bish said. "Certain skin glands. Waste products thrown off from the blood. You'll get used to it, after you've been around them more."
"Do I have to be around them?"
"They're your own race. How else can you work with them? Your whole training is designed with that in mind. When we've taught you all we can, then you will -"
"It reminded me of something. The pungent odor. I kept thinking about it, all the time I was with him. Trying to place it."
"Can you identify it now?"
Peter reflected. He thought hard, concentrating deeply. His small face wrinkled up. Doctor Bish waited patiently by his desk, arms folded. The automatic heating system clicked on for the night, warming the room with a soft glow that drifted gently around them.
"I know!" Peter exclaimed suddenly.
"What was it?"
"The animals in the biology lab. It was the same smell. The same smell as the experimental animals."
They glanced at each other, the robot doctor and the promising young boy. Both of them smiled, a secret, private smile. A smile of complete understanding.
"I believe I know what you mean," Doctor Bish said. "In fact, I know exactly what you mean."
Some Kinds of Life
"Joan, for heaven's sake!"
Joan Clarke caught the irritation in her husband's voice, even through the wall-speaker. She left her chair by the vidscreen and hurried into the bedroom. Bob was rooting furiously around in the closet, pulling down coats and suits and tossing them on the bed. His face was flushed with exasperation.
"What are you looking for?"
"My uniform. Where is it? Isn't it here?"
"Of course. Let me look."
Bob got sullenly out of the way. Joan pushed past him and clicked on the automatic sorter. Suits bobbed by in quick succession, parading for her inspection.
It was early morning, about nine o'clock. The sky was bright blue. Not a single cloud was visible. A warm spring day, late in April. The ground outside the house was damp and black from the rains of the day before. Green shoots were already beginning to poke their way up through the steaming earth. The sidewalk was dark with moisture. Wide lawns glittered in the sparkling sunlight.
"Here it is." Joan turned off the sorter. The uniform dropped into her arms and she carried it over to her husband. "Now next time don't get so upset."
"Thanks." Bob grinned, embarrassed. He patted the coat. "But look, it's all creased. I thought you were going to have the darn thing cleaned."
"It'll be all right." Joan started up the bed-maker. The bed-maker smoothed out the sheets and blankets, folding them in place. The spread settled carefully around the pillows. "After you've had it on awhile it'll look just lovely. Bob, you're the fussiest man I know."
Collected Stories 2 - Second Variety and Other Classic Stories Page 14
