Part 11 (2/2)
”Maybe.” Tomo paused, steeling himself for the crucial question. ”Are you going to let me go back to the Goldenrod?”
He saw her eyes s.h.i.+ft left, and knew she was checking some of his physiological readouts: reading from his body's reactions the state of his mind. The thought of being laid open like that before her didn't bother him; briefly, he wondered if it should. ”I don't think that'll be a problem,” she said after a moment.
”If it's what you want, of course.”
”It is,” he said. ”It's where I belong. The only place I ever will belong.”
”Some people spend all their lives trying to figure out where they belong,”
she pointed out softly. ”At least you've got that much.”
Tomo looked at her... and slowly it dawned on him that the gentleness in her voice was perhaps less professional technique than it was simply pity. ”You don't need to feel sorry for me, Doctor,” he told her. ”I really do enjoy being in s.p.a.ce...
being who I am. It's just-well, I'd like to be able to face other people. Even if I never do it. You understand what I'm trying to say?”
”I think so,” she nodded. ”You're trying to expand the edges of your life, to push yourself as far as you can go.”
He grimaced. ”Looks like I'm already there, doesn't it?”
”Nonsense!” Scharn snorted with a vehemence that surprised him. ”You're a human being, Tomo. No human being yet has ever found his own limits.”
Echoes of his own words to Max, Tomo thought. He'd believed them then; now he wasn't so sure. ”Um,” he grunted noncommittally.
”I mean it. There'll always be new challenges for you-you'll see.” Again her eyes s.h.i.+fted to the bio readouts, and when she spoke again her voice was back to its earlier quiet control. ”I'm going to let you sleep now; give your body time to throw off the rest of the sedative. If you want to talk again later, I'll be available. If not, that's fine, too.”
Fatigue was indeed tugging at Tomo's eyelids, but with an effort he forced them open again. There was one question he still wanted to ask. ”Dr. Scharn?
Would you tell me what it's like being dirtside?”
He caught just the briefest half-smile before his eyes closed again. ”Mostly,”
Scharn said from the bottom of a long stairway, ”it's very, very noisy.”
Somehow, the answer seemed profound... but before Tomo could think about it, he was asleep.
-Scharn turned off the viewer with a sigh, letting the professional calm evaporate from her face as the ache she really felt flooded in to take its place. Yes, Tomo would be able to return to his s.h.i.+p; a couple more days of biochemical a.n.a.lysis on him would conclusively prove what she already knew, that he wasn't drifting into psychosis. A small spurt of growth in his personality-true, in an unexpected direction-was really all that had happened, and in the controlled environment of stars.h.i.+p travel there would be no stimuli to encourage further development. Like a teenager's grandiose dreams of his future, Tomo's thoughts of mingling with humanity would quietly fade and die. The mainter would be content with his world again; the company that owned him would be pleased and would return to business as usual.
Owned him. Owned him.
And something in Scharn snapped.
She thought about it for a long minute, and then traced a curve on the control ball. ”Yes?” Iris answered.
”This is Dr. Scharn,” the psychiatrist said firmly. ”Get me the Goldenrod's computer. I'd like to leave a private message for Tomo.”
The Goldenrod launched on schedule, driving slightly out of the ecliptic plane and incidentally giving a grand view of Maigre in the rear viewer. ”Well, that's it, Max,” Tomo said, the deck feeling good beneath his feet. ”Next stop, Canaan Under Vega. Docking equipment all secured?”
”Secured and shut down,” the computer replied. ”I'm running a check on deep-s.p.a.ce functions, but so far everything registers normal.”
”Good.” Tomo watched the view of Maigre a moment longer, then picked up the ca.s.sette he'd earlier pulled out and placed by the control ball. He toyed with it, wondering if he really wanted to do this.
Max might have been reading his mind. ”You don't have to try it yet, you know. Dr. Scharn made it clear this was to be strictly voluntary.”
”I know,” Tomo snapped, feeling the tension of this brand-new uncertainty and wis.h.i.+ng Scharn had left things as they were. Almost wis.h.i.+ng it, anyway...
Abruptly, he jammed the ca.s.sette into the player and dropped into his lounge chair, ”All right,” he told Max, bracing himself. ”Let's give it a try.”
And suddenly there was someone else in the room with him.
Tomo stiffened as the stranger nodded pleasantly. ”h.e.l.lo, Tomo,” he said...
and from behind him a second man appeared... and a woman... and another man...
They vanished as abruptly as they'd appeared, and Tomo slumped in his chair. He could feel the sweat on his forehead, and even over the roar of the drive his heartbeat was audible. ”I think,” he said when his breathing was finally back to normal, ”that those are the most realistic holograms I've ever seen. Uh... how'd I do?”
”Quite well,” Max said. ”Six point eight seconds. I'm sure you could have managed another few seconds, but the programmed cutoffs are very specific.”
”Six point eight, eh?” Tomo repeated, trying hard not to let his disappointment show. ”Well, I suppose I have to start somewhere. You think there's a chance I'll be ready by the time we reach Canaan Under Vega?”
”I really don't know,” was Max's diplomatic reply. ”But we have ten point four years to find out.”
Tomo smiled and resettled himself in the seat. ”We sure do. Okay; let's try it again.”
The dirtsiders at Canaan Under Vega were going to be very surprised.
Afterword.
”Return to the Fold” (one of my least favorite t.i.tles, by the way) started life as a script for some friends who wanted to make an SF movie. We actually took the project pretty far-for amateurs with no budget to speak of, anyway-even testing some potential actors at the local cable-TV facility. But we were eventually put on indefinite hold by a lack of hallways and offices that could be dressed up (cheaply) to look like those aboard a s.h.i.+p and s.p.a.ce station. With a script already in hand, I decided I might as well go ahead and turn it into a story. The story sold, was published, and even went on to become a Hugo nominee, which is certainly all one can expect from a humble little novelette. Still, sometimes I wish...
Anybody out there have a futuristic home you'd like to lend out for, say, about a week?
The Shadows of Evening
The late-afternoon sun was sending fingers of chilly darkness across the landscape as Turek topped the last hill and came within sight of the village of Akkad. He stood silently for a moment, looking down with mixed feelings at the sprawl of adobe huts. The villages growth in the years since he'd last been here was good, in a way; a sign that Man's foothold on this uniquely hostile world was increasing. But on the other hand, the more people in an area, the more trouble there generally was with Shadows. Not only were man-made objects in greater abundance to begin with, but there was always an idiot or two in a large village who simply wouldn't learn-and such, Turek suspected, was the case here.
Tugging almost savagely on his blue cloak to resettle it on his shoulders, he headed down the hill.
The crowd around the jewelers shop was something of a surprise to him when he arrived there. The messages had said the Shadow was a large one, but even large Shadows weren't usually worth any particular attention by the general populace. Pus.h.i.+ng forward-no difficult task; the crowd parted like the Red Sea for him-he came to the inner edge of the ring and saw what they were looking at.
Sitting on the ground, gray face screwed up with pain and nausea, was a middle-aged man in a jeweler's ap.r.o.n. A plump woman knelt beside him, alternately fussing over him and scolding him for some action she clearly considered stupid. In front of him lay a rock-wood slab and a tray of tiny tools, some of which had spilled from their slots onto the dusty ground. On a cloth nearby lay a neat pile of delicate gold chains and sparkling gems.
Turek stood there silently for several seconds before the man noticed him and, gasping with the exertion, scrambled to his feet. Leaning on the woman, who'd also risen, he gave a shallow bow.
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