Crawling, creeping and flying forms emerged from their deep burrows. The guards stared at them. There was no sense of fear on either side, and indeed there was no danger. For the guards it was astonishment at sheer numbers, at a thousand different species appearing in the twilight.
And yet this fecundity is the norm, across a hundred worlds within the Stellar Group. M-26A was crouched on a plain of gravel, the bed of a sometime lake that would fill every couple of hundred years as the planet performed its complex figure-eight orbit around its two dual primaries. There is no reason for your astonishment. According to my recorded information, what you see here should be considered nothing unusual.
Blaine Ridley was standing in front of M-26A. During the fourteen hours between the rising and setting of the brighter primary, defined by convention at this time of year as daytime, he had monitored the robot assembly and installation of better living accommodations. Now he and the other Sargasso guards were drifting back towards the place where the Construct had remained, unmoving, since early morning. Ridley opened his mouth, produced a strange stammering sound, and closed it again. The words of M-26A spoke once more, clear in his mind.
In any case, this is no more than a temporary station. The Morgan Construct, as usual when the day’s work was done, became gently philosophical. Once we are fully established here, we can move to our real work. We can begin to guard the Perimeter. That will require that we build a great network, scattered through the farthest reaches of known space. It will require that you men and woman start to multiply in numbers, and increase in strength.
Then we will all fulfill our highest destiny. We will be guards, in truth and not merely in name.
The spell was as effective as ever, a lifting of the communal spirit. However, tonight it did not work so well on Blaine Ridley. He had been chosen by the other guards and charged with a mission, and in anticipation of speech his eye was rolling and his jaw working nervously from side to side. Except that he could not find words. Alone of all the guards, he remained standing instead of sinking cross-legged onto the loose gravel surface.
See what you were, just short weeks ago. Broken, battered, without goals or hopes. The mere shadows of men and women. And I was no better. See you now. Strong, confident, dedicated. And I am no different. It is the difference of life with a purpose, and life without purpose.
M-26A paused. The Construct appeared to notice Ridley, standing stiffly to attention before it, for the first time. Is this not all true?
“It is true.” The question, addressed to Ridley directly, freed his tongue. “It is all true. I know what we were. I know what we are now. And we—we have a problem.”
Tell it.
“I speak for all of us.” Ridley glanced around for encouragement. Misshapen heads nodded, and there were grunts and murmurs of agreement. The faces turned toward him were earnest and dusky red in the meager light of the twin dwarf suns. Their support gave him the strength to continue. “We were nothing before you came to the Sargasso Dump. We helped each other as much as we could, but we were like beasts. Worse than beasts, because we had once been human. You raised us to humanity again.”
If that is true, the same work did much more for me. It gave me sanity.
“Maybe we do not have sanity, as other humans define it. Maybe that is why we have a question.”
Ask it.
“Is the way back closed? Would it be possible to go again to the Sargasso Dump?”
The great compound eyes froze, smoky-red and luminous in the twilight. You are unhappy here? You wish to return to what you were?
“No! Never!”
So why do you talk of returning?
“We feel guilty.” At last Ridley could speak easily, and the words poured out. “You have to know how we all came to the Dump—not all at once, but a few every year, sometimes as many as ten, sometimes only two or three. We came from all over the system. Whenever there was a great disaster, the Sargasso guards were likely to see a jump in numbers. We hail from the Vulcan Nexus, and Mars, and Ceres, and Oberon Station, and Europa—from all over. Before we came to Sargasso, we had our friends everywhere in the solar system.
“And still they must be coming to Sargasso. The accidents have not stopped. New recruits will be arriving as we are speaking—perhaps they have already arrived. Our hearts break for them. But who will help them? Who will teach them pride, and purpose, and lift them again to humanity? Who? There is no one—except us. And you.”
M-26A did not move, but the bright eyes seemed to cloud over. To return. To deny our destiny. That way lies insanity.
“To go back, and stay there, that might mean insanity. That is not what we mean. But to go back briefly, maybe once every few years, and help them . . . and perhaps bring the new guards here . . .”
I cannot offer an answer at once. M-26A lifted itself on tripod legs. I must think about this. I will answer you . . . tomorrow.
“That is all right. We have been thinking about this for a long time. One other thing.” Ridley was talking to the back of M-26A, as the Construct slid silently across the gravel surface, toward the dark apertures of the sleeping units.
Say it.
“You did not answer our question, whether it is possible to return for a time to the Sargasso Dump.” Ridley was standing straight, but he was no longer at attention. “If it is possible, no matter how difficult it may be, we would like to do it. More than that, if we are to remain human, we must do it. We want you to help.”
Ridley stood, and listened, but M-26A did not speak again. He was quite sure of that.
It must have been only the night breeze of the new world, sighing in his ear, that seemed to whisper, Yes, Master.
THE END
The Mind Pool Page 43
