Part 14 (1/2)

”How so?”

”Well, you know engineers! They reached such a level of perfection in their simulations that certain models could not be distinguished from live human beings. Some people could not tolerate that. . .”

Suddenly I remembered the stewardess on the s.h.i.+p that I had taken from Luna.

”Could not tolerate that. . . ?” I repeated his words. ”Was it, then, something like a. . . phobia?”

”I am no psychologist, but I suppose you could call it that. Anyway, this is ancient history.”

”And are there still such robots?”

”Oh yes, they are found on short-range rockets. Did you meet one of them?”

I gave an evasive answer.

”Will you have time now to take care of your business?” He was concerned.

”My business. . . ?”

Then I remembered that I was supposed to have something to attend to in the city. We parted at the entrance to the station, where he had led me, all the while thanking me for extricating him from a difficult situation.

I wandered about the streets; I went to a realon but left before sitting through half of the ridiculous show, and I rode to Clavestra in the lowest spirits. I sent back the gleeder a kilometer from the villa and went the rest of the way on foot. Everything was in order. They were mechanisms of metal, wire, gla.s.s, one could a.s.semble them and disa.s.semble them, I told myself; but I could not shake off the memory of that hall, of the darkness and the distorted voices, that cacophony of despair which held too much meaning, too much of the most ordinary fear. I could tell myself that I was a specialist on that subject, I had tasted it enough, horror at the prospect of sudden annihilation has ceased to be fiction for me, as it was for them, those sensible designers who had organized the whole thing so well: robots took care of their own kind, did so to the very end, and man did not interfere. It was a closed cycle of precision instruments that created, reproduced, and destroyed themselves, and I had needlessly overheard the agony of mechanical death.

I stopped at the top of a hill. The view, in the slanting rays of the sun, was indescribably beautiful. Every now and then a gleeder, gleaming like a black bullet, sped along the ribbon highway, aimed at the horizon, where mountains rose in a bluish outline, softened by the distance. And suddenly I felt that I could not look -- as if I did not have the right to look, as if there lay a horrible deception in this, squeezing at my throat. I sat down among the trees, buried my face in my hands; I regretted having returned. When I entered the house a white robot approached me.

”You have a telephone call,” it said confidingly. ”Long distance: Eurasia.”

I walked after it quickly. The telephone was in the hall, so that while speaking I could see the garden through the gla.s.s door.

”Hal?” came a faraway but clear voice. ”It's Olaf.”

”Olaf . . . Olaf!” I repeated in a triumphant tone. ”Where are you, friend?”

”Narvik.”

”What are you doing? How is it going? You got my letter?”

”Of course. That's how I knew where to find you.”

A moment of silence.

”What are you doing. . . ?” I repeated, less certain.

”What is there to do? I'm doing nothing. And you?”

”Did you go to Adapt?”

”I did. But only for a day. I stopped. I couldn't, you know. . .”

”I know. Listen, Olaf. . . I've rented a villa here. It might not be. . . but -- listen! Come and stay here!”

He did not answer at once. When he did, there was hesitation in his voice.

”I'd like to come. And I might, Hal, but you know what they told us. . .”

”I know. But what can they do to us? Anyway, to h.e.l.l with them. Come on.”

”What would be the point? Think, Hal. It could be. . .”

”What?”

”Worse.”

”And how do you know that I'm not having a ball here?”

I heard his short laugh, really more a sigh: he laughed so quietly.

”Then what do you want with me there?”

Suddenly an idea hit me.

”Olaf. Listen. It's a kind of summer resort here. A villa, a pool, gardens. The only problem. . . but you must know what things are like now, the way they live, right?”

”I have a rough idea.”

The tone said more than the words.

”There you are, then. Now pay attention! Come here. But first get hold of some. . . boxing gloves. Two pairs. We'll do some sparring. You'll see, it'll be great!”

”Christ! Hal, Where am I going to find you boxing gloves? There probably haven't been any made for years.”

”So have them made. Don't tell me it's impossible to make four stupid gloves. We'll set up a little ring -- we'll pound each other. We two can, Olaf! You've heard about betrizating, I take it?”

”H'm. I'd tell you what I think of it. But not over the phone. Somebody might have delicate ears.”

”Look, come. You'll do what I said?”

He was silent for a while.

”I don't know if there's any sense to it, Hal.”

”All right. Then tell me, while you're at it, what plans you have. If you have any, then naturally I wouldn't think of bothering you with my whims.”

”I have none,” he said. ”And you?”

”I came here to rest, educate myself, read, but these aren't plans, just. . . I simply couldn't see anything else ahead for me.”

Silence.

”Olaf?”