by Isaac Asimov
When the robot was gone, Derec lowered himself to his hands and knees to examine the holes in the tiles. They proved to be tapered pits barely a half-centimeter deep. There seemed to be no way of hooking anything into one to lift the tile. Derec wondered if he would have to build some sort of vacuum clamp before he could locate the key.
Then he realized that the openings were about the diameter of the tip of Aranimas’s stylus. Of course, Derec thought as he fumbled for the instrument. Let’s hope this feature doesn’t work only for Aranimas, too —
He touched the conical tip to one of the openings, and the tile seemed to seize hold of the stylus and stand it straight up. Gripping the stylus with one and then both hands, Derec tried to lift the tile straight up. The tile did not budge. But when he used the stylus as a lever, he was easily able to tip the tile back, like peeling the lid off a can. Underneath was a small hexagonal compartment — empty.
No beginner’s luck, eh? he thought. When he replaced the tile, the stylus came free. Very nice, he thought, touching the stylus to the adjacent tile. The trick wasn’t done with magnetics; the stylus seemed to actually bond to the tile. Perhaps a metallic affinity, followed by a little shot of current to jostle the atoms and break the bonds. Cute trick —
There was a humming sound behind him, and Derec whirled. Half a dozen meters down the central corridor, a circular platform was descending from the ceiling, suspended on four slender wires. And standing on the platform was a woman — a young human female, no more than a year or two older than Derec but a good eight centimeters taller. The broad-shouldered sash blazer she was wearing was cut in an aristocratic style, but showed many days of wear.
Her expression was one of surprise, even shock. Her mouth worked as though trying to form a word. “You?” she said disbelievingly as the platform reached floor level. “Here?”
Wild thoughts filled Derec’s head, and reason had to fight for control. That would sure help explain Aranimas’s success — if he had had a human consort all along to guide him —
“You’d better tell me real fast who you are and what you’re doing here,” he said, slowly coming to his feet. “I don’t have a lot of time to decide what to do about you.”
“What to do about me?” she echoed angrily. “I don’t know why I owe you any answers, not after what you did.”
The meaning of the condition of the girl’s clothes finally impressed itself on Derec. She was a prisoner, just as he. But Derec realized that to her, he might be the one who seemed to have thrown in with the raiders.
“I only helped Aranimas to buy time and save my neck. The robot’s mine now, and Aranimas can’t hurt you,” Derec said. “We’re going to get of here.”
The hostility faded from her face, leaving behind bewilderment. “But what are you doing here? How long have you been on board?”
Derec took a step toward her. “It doesn’t take long to tell. Five days ago I woke up in a survival pod on the surface of an asteroid. I was found by a colony of robots mining the asteroid. Aranimas raided the colony and took me prisoner.” That’s enough. No sense muddying the waters with details even I don’t understand yet, he thought.
She was looking at him curiously. “So you weren’t looking for me.”
“I didn’t know anyone else was on the ship,” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “Wolruf told me that they had captured a couple of human ships, but she left the impression the crews were all — gone.”
“I think Aranimas kept me alive because he was interested in my robots,” she said. “Are you the one that repaired Capek?”
“Was that its old name? It answers to Alpha now. Yes, I’m the one who fixed it.”
“You did a rotten job,” she said with a hint of childish petulance. “It doesn’t remember me. The new arm is ugly, too.”
“I’m sorry.”
“And you don’t remember me, either.”
Derec swallowed. “I had the feeling you thought I should —”
“I thought you were just being cruel,” she said slowly. “I didn’t want to give you the satisfaction. But you don’t know who I am, do you?”
“I don’t even know who I am,” Derec answered with a weak smile. “When I woke up on the asteroid, I was wearing a safesuit with the name Derec on the chest, so I’ve been calling myself that. But I can’t remember anything that happened before I woke up on the asteroid.”
“Nothing at all?”
“Nothing personal. I remember a lot of facts — things I learned sometime, I guess. But I don’t know where I’m from or where I was going.” Derec was badly confused. “So you know me?”
“I thought I did,” she said.
“Then for mercy’s sake, tell me —”
A chirping sound came from the huge control console at that moment.
“Someone’s paging Aranimas,” the girl said, a flash of nervousness crossing her face. “You said we were going to get out of here. Maybe we should worry about that first. What were you doing when I surprised you? What were you looking for?”
“Some of my property — that Aranimas took when I came aboard.”
“The key? Was that yours?”
“You know about it?”
“Aranimas showed it to me. Is that where it’s hidden?”
“According to Alpha.”
“Is it important?”
“I think so.”
“Then let’s get it and get out of here,” she said anxiously.
Wondering what was keeping Alpha and Wolruf, Derec slowly turned back to the floor grid. He checked the second tile, stole a glance back over his shoulder at her, then moved crabwise to the right to try a third.
“I can look for the key and listen at the same time,” he said, attaching the stylus to the next tile. “Can’t you tell me what you know about me?”
If she gave an answer, Derec never heard it. One moment he was starting to lift the tile, and the next there was a flash, a roaring sound, and a tremendous wash of heat. Something heavy struck Derec across the back and he toppled forward, catching the hard edge of the tile across his chest and driving the air from his lungs. His mind had time to think one word — booby trap — before it retreated from the fury to a dark, quiet recess where it would not be disturbed.
Chapter 13
ROCKLIFFE STATION
SOFT-EDGED IMAGES drifted through a dreamlike haze. A sea of light surrounded Derec, buoying him up. He was as transparent as glass, as inconsequential as the wind. His consciousness resided on a mote of dust, floating on gentle currents of time.
Faceless figures floated there with him. Some drew near as though aware of him, only to turn away again and withdraw. The only sounds were the fragrance-songs of flowers and the color-songs of sunsets, and those played in his head without understanding.
None of it seemed to make sense, and yet he did not care. He only thought that after everything that had happened, all that he had survived, it would be a terrible disappointment to be dead.
After a time, his body returned to him. He was still floating, still adrift, but his consciousness again inhabited its familiar place, filled its familiar space. But his thoughts were as sluggish as his limbs, as though the burdens of once again managing his body’s functions had overwhelmed the simple processes of his mind.
Presently he became aware that the dreamlike world of light and shadow which he was inhabiting existed entirely within himself. If he chose to, he could open his eyes to the larger world beyond, to survey it, to enter it. He was certain that when he saw that world he would know his place in it, would know then who and what he was. But he would pay a price in peace and silence, and that was too high a price to pay.
No, Derec thought firmly. There are limits. I don’t want to see it, he told himself. I don’t want to know.
Time passed, and the enveloping womb of solitude slowly became a prison. Silence became deafness. Stillness became death. Whether because he was healed or haunted, what he had was not enough.
&
nbsp; The larger world outside himself still beckoned. It was not a friendly world, he knew. At best it was indifferent to him. Unlike the gentle currents that had borne him as he healed, the larger world was filled with forces that could bear him along like driftwood in the spume of a breaking wave.
But he was not without power himself. Perhaps he could not turn back the wave, but he could ride it, and set his own course.
It was that realization which freed him. He saw that he was not a prisoner, and never had been. There were five doors through which he could free himself — the five doors of his senses. All were unlocked, waiting only his touch to swing open and let the world in and himself out.
And he would open them, he knew. But not yet. Not until he had floated with the gentle currents awhile longer. For if he could leave whenever he chose to, then the womb of solitude was not such an unpleasant place to be after all —
The first door Derec tried to open was hearing. At first he wondered if he had succeeded, for the silence without was as complete as the silence within. Then he became aware of the faint rhythmic sound of his own breathing. It was a small step, but it was the first information to come from outside his cocoon in what felt like a very long time.
Experimentally, Derec opened his eyes a crack, and immediately closed them again. The world outside was disturbingly familiar. He was floating enveloped in light — light that was somehow bright without being harsh. A faceless shadow, tall and slender, moved gracefully through the haze which seemed to surround him.
Reality had been inverted. The dream had become reality, or the dream world and the real world were one and the same. It seemed like some sort of perverse trick, one in spirit with a “present” which turns out to be a series of ever smaller empty boxes. Would every doorway lead to the same place? Would each step he took only hold him more firmly where he was?
“Good morning.”
Derec was puzzled at the sound of another voice. If he was alone, then he had to be the one who had spoken. But he had not spoken, and so he was not alone. But if he was not alone, then he could not still be inside his dream world, and what he had seen when he had opened his eyes must be real.
But if it was real, then he was alive. He tried to remember the last incontrovertibly real thing he had known. It was a difficult business, remembering. There had been sunsets and flower-songs, but they had not been real. Before that... before that...
Before that there had been a terrible moment, a moment so full of surprise and pain that even in fleeing it, he had brought it inside his cocoon. He had transformed the eruption into the blossoming of a flower, the flame into the colors of a spectacular sunset. Then he had replayed the moment endlessly to render it harmless.
Yes! The last real thing he had known had been the explosion.
Derec opened his eyes once more to the light. A shadow loomed over him, faceless and nearly formless, as before. He tried to reach out and touch it, but his limbs would not obey.
“Turn off the sterilization field,” the voice said, and the haze of light vanished. The shadow became the copper-colored head and clothed torso of a robot. The robot was gazing solicitously down at him. “Good morning,” it repeated. “Please don’t try to move.”
Derec’s mind was slowly working its way backward from the explosion. He understood that he was no longer in the command center. The robot hovering over him was not Alpha. Which meant —
“Aranimas got his robots,” Derec croaked.
“Excuse me, sir?”
“He won,” Derec whispered. “I didn’t get away.”
“Sir?”
“Tell Aranimas I won’t stop trying —”
“Sir, I would be happy to deliver the message for you. However, the person you named is unknown to me. Where may this individual be found?”
“Aranimas is the ship’s boss —”
“This individual was a member of the ship’s company?”
“Yes —” The robot’s responses were beginning to puzzle Derec.
“Sir, I regret to inform you that no person of that name was found when the paramedics boarded —”
“I’m not on the ship?”
“You are resting on a therapeutic diamagnetic force field, more commonly known as an airbed. The airbed is in the Intensive Care Ward of the hospital at Rockliffe Station.”
The wave of relief that swept through Derec on hearing those words seemed to take all his energy with it. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to float on the gentle currents of sleep once more. Distantly, he heard voices, but could not rouse himself to think about what they were saying.
“He is fatigued,” the robot said.
“We need his assistance,” a new voice answered.
“Our needs are less pressing than his own,” the robot said. “We will wait.”
The next time Derec awoke, the copper-skinned robot was again nearby.
“Good evening,” it said, coming to his side. “How are you feeling?”
Derec managed an anemic smile. “I was just lying here thinking about all the times in the last week that I closed my eyes one place and opened them somewhere else. Every time it happened I found myself in worse surroundings and deeper trouble — until the first time I woke up here.”
The robot nodded gravely. “I promise that you will receive the best of care.”
“I know I will,” Derec said. “Do you have a name?”
“My assigned designation is Human Diagnostic Medicine Specialist 4. However, the supervisor of medicine for this district refers to me as Dr. Galen.”
“Why?”
“He has never explained this to me. However, I have determined that Galen was the name of a Greek physician of the classical age who wrote on the subject of the ‘vital forces’ inhabiting the body. I believe that my supervisor found it amusing to call an advanced diagnostic technician by the name of a primitive medical mystic. Since this question concerns humor, I cannot offer an authoritative conclusion.”
“I think you’re probably right,” Derec said. “You won’t be offended if I call you Dr. Galen? It’s a good bit handier than your other name.”
“Why should I be offended, sir?”
“No reason,” Derec said. At least not when I say it, he added silently. But that supervisor is definitely expressing some hostility. Probably has a secret fantasy of being a family practice doctor on a Settler world instead of tender-to-robots. “Where is your supervisor?”
“On Nexon.”
Derec knew the name: it was one of the larger Spacer worlds, and the second-farthest from Earth. “You said this is Rockliffe Station?”
“That is correct, sir.”
“Where is your local supervisor? The hospital director?”
“Sir, I am hospital director at present.”
Derec frowned. “Maybe you’d better tell me some more about Rockliffe Station, then.”
“Certainly, sir. What would you like to know?”
Rockliffe Station, Dr. Galen explained, was a centuries old Spacer facility, a way station dating from the days when a long interstellar journey could only be managed through a series of shorter Jumps. Dozens of way stations had been built while the Earth emigrants who would become the Spacers were colonizing the fifty worlds that would become their homes.
With the coming of more powerful drives capable of spanning known space in one or two Jumps, most of the way stations had long since been abandoned. A few, of which this was one, had been fortunately enough placed that they outlived their original function.
Rockliffe Station lay in the middle of one of the largest “open” regions along the fringes of Spacer territory, looking out toward the quarantine zone beyond which lay the Settler worlds. There were no livable worlds in the nearest star system, but there was one planet with a crust rich enough in iridium to justify a small mining and processing center.
So Rockliffe had survived on the strength of its usefulness as a listening post on the frontier, as a transshipment point for proces
sed iridium, and a military outpost should relations with the Settlers deteriorate. But those were not reason enough to keep it active at the peak level of the early days — not enough even to maintain a human presence there.
According to Dr. Galen, less than ten percent of the station was occupied, and that entirely by robots. The human supervision they required was provided by means of hypervision and the ships that called every two months.
Only because of the chance that those visiting crews might need its services had the hospital been kept staffed. But the managers on Nexon were realists. Dr. Galen was hospital administrator because his caseload was usually zero, while the only other medical robot on station, a nurse-orderly, had a full schedule of cleaning and maintenance.
No wonder the supervisor makes jokes at Dr. Galen’s expense, Derec thought.
“You seem disturbed by this information,” Dr. Galen said. “Is there a problem?”
Derec thought about the question for a moment. He had grown progressively unhappier as Dr. Galen’s explanation had proceeded. But did it matter so much that he apparently was still alone? At least Rockliffe Station was more or less familiar territory, unlike the asteroid colony or the raider ship. He should be able to have his own way more easily here.
“No. No problem,” Derec said. “Except I’d like to know a little more about what happened. How did I get here? You said something about paramedics —”
“I do not know all the details. The dispatcher or dock supervisor would be better sources of information.”
“Tell me what you know.”
“Apparently your ship was disabled following its Jump. Exactly what happened next is not clear. The dispatcher will no doubt want to inquire about the circumstances. However, it appeared as though your ship discarded or released a smaller vessel, a shuttle or lifeboat, before changing course and heading into the Q-zone.”
“They must have cut us loose after the explosion —” Derec said thoughtfully.
“The smaller vessel apparently was following an unacceptable approach vector and did not respond to the dispatcher’s commands. On the assumption that it was a derelict, a tug was dispatched to intercept it and bring it in. When the derelict was boarded you were found and brought here.”
