F. L. Wallace

by Address Centauri

  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.

  Docchi looked up. "Did my calculations check?"

  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. AH-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 nipblem 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. Mauree
n 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 whare 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 mindá, 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 o
ccasional 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, rephased 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.