Part 23 (1/2)
Sledge lay propped up, scrubbed very clean and neatly shorn, with his gnarled old hands folded on top of the spotless sheets. His raw-boned cheeks and sockets were hollowed, still, but a healthy pink had replaced that deathly blueness. Bandages covered the back of his head.
Underhill s.h.i.+fted uneasily.
”Oh!” he whispered faintly. ”I didn't know-”
A prim black mechanical, which had been standing statue-like behind the bed, turned gracefully to Underhill, explaining, ”Mr. Sledge has been suffering for many years from a benign tumor of the brain, which his human doctors failed to diagnose. That caused his headaches, and certain persistent hallucinations. We have removed the growth, and now the hallucinations have also vanished.”
Underhill stared uncertainly at the blind, urbane mechanical.
”What hallucinations?”
”Mr. Sledge thought he was a rhodomagnetic engineer,” the mechanical explained. ”He believed he was the creator of the humanoids. He was troubled with an irrational belief that he did not like the Prime Directive.”
The wan man moved on the pillows, astonished.
”Is that so?” The gaunt face held a cheerful blankness, and the hollow eyes flashed with a merely momentary interest. ”Well, whoever did design them, they're pretty wonderful. Aren't they, Underhill?”
Underhill was grateful that he didn't have to answer, for the bright, empty eyes dropped shut and the old man fell suddenly asleep. He felt the mechanical touch his sleeve, and saw its silent nod. Obediently, he followed it away.
Alert and solicitous, the little black mechanical accompanied him down the s.h.i.+ning corridor, and worked the elevator for him, and conducted him back to the car. It drove him efficiently back through the new and splendid avenues, toward the magnificent prison of his home.
Sitting beside it in the car, he watched its small deft hands on the wheel, the changing l.u.s.ter of bronze and blue on its s.h.i.+ning blackness. The final machine, perfect and beautiful, created to serve mankind forever. He shuddered.