Return from the Stars (21 page)

"You still do, my friend," he said. "You still do."

"Well, yes; but you know what I mean."

"I know."

Again we were silent.

"Do you want to talk some more, or box?" he asked.

I laughed.

"Where did you get the gloves?"

"Hal, you would never guess."

"You had them made?"

"I stole them."

"No!"

"So help me. From a museum. I had to fly to Stockholm especially for them."

"Let's go, then."

He unpacked his modest belongings and changed. We both put on bathrobes and went downstairs. It was still early. Normally breakfast would not have been served for half an hour.

"We'd better go out to the back of the house," I said. "No one will see us there."

We stopped in a circle of tall bushes. First we stamped down the grass, which was fairly short anyway.

"It'll be slippery," said Olaf, sliding his foot around the improvised ring.

"That's all right. It'll be harder."

We put on the gloves. We had a little trouble, because there was no one to tie them for us and I did not to want to call a robot.

He faced me. His body was completely white.

"You haven't got a tan yet," I said.

"Later I'll tell you what's been happening to me. I've had no time for the beach. Gong."

"Gong."

We began easily. A feint. Duck. Duck. I warmed up. I tapped, rather than punched. I did not really want to hit him. I was a good fifteen kilograms heavier, and his slightly longer reach did not offset my advantage, especially since I was also the better boxer. For that reason I gave him an opening several times, although I didn't have to. Suddenly he lowered his gloves. His face hardened. He was angry.

"Not this way," he said.

"What's wrong?"

"No games, Hal. Either we box or we don't."

"OK," I said, clenching my teeth, "we box!"

I began to move in. Glove hit glove with a sharp slap. He sensed that I meant business and put up his guard. The pace quickened. I feinted to the left and to the right, in succession, the last blow almost always landed on his chest—he was not fast enough. Unexpectedly he took the offensive, got in a nice right, I was knocked back a couple of steps. I recovered immediately. We circled, he swung, I ducked beneath the glove, backed off, and at half-distance landed a straight right. I put my weight behind it. Olaf went soft, for a moment loosened his guard, but then came back carefully, crouching. For the next minute he bombarded me with blows. The gloves struck my forearms with an appalling sound, but harmlessly. Once I barely dodged in time, his glove grazed my ear, and it was a roundhouse that would have decked me. Again we circled. He took a blow on the chest, a hard one, and his guard fell, I could have nailed him, but I did nothing, I stood as if paralyzed—she was at one of the windows, her face as white as the material covering her shoulders. A fraction of a second passed. The next instant, I was stunned by a powerful impact; I fell to my knees.

"Sorry!" I heard Olaf shout.

"Nothing to be sorry about… That was a good one," I mumbled, getting up.

The window was closed now. We fought for perhaps half a minute; suddenly Olaf drew back.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing."

"Not true."

"All right. I've had enough. You aren't angry?"

"Of course not. It made no sense, anyway, to start right off … let's go."

We went to the pool. Olaf was a better diver than I. He could do fantastic things. I tried a full gainer with a twist, the way he did it, but succeeded only in smacking the water with my thighs. Sitting at the edge of the pool, I splashed water on my burning skin. Olaf laughed.

"You're out of practice."

"What do you mean? I never could do a twist right. You're great!"

"It never leaves you, you know. Today is the first time."

"Really?"

"Yes. This is terrific."

The sun was high now. We lay on the sand and closed our eyes.

"Where are … they?" he asked after a long silence.

"I don't know. Probably in their room. Their windows look out on the back of the house. I hadn't known that."

I felt him move. The sand was very hot.

"Yes, it was on account of that," I said.

"They saw us?"

"She did."

"She must have been frightened," he muttered, "don't you think?"

I did not answer. Again, a pause.

"Hal?"

"What?"

"They hardly fly now, do you know that?"

"I know."

"Do you know why?"

"They claim that there is no point in it…"

I began to outline for him what I had read in Starck's book. He lay motionless, without a word, but I knew that he was listening intently.

When I finished, he did not speak right away.

"Have you read Shapley?"

"No. What Shapley?"

"No? I thought that you had read everything… A twentieth-century astronomer. One of his things fell into my hands once, on precisely that subject. Quite similar to your Starck."

"What? That's impossible. Shapley could not have known… But read Starck for yourself."

"I don't mean to. You know what this is? A smoke screen."

"A smoke screen?"

"Yes. I believe I know what happened."

"Well?"

"Betrization."

I sat up.

"You think so?"

He opened his eyes.

"It's obvious. They don't fly—and they never will. It will get worse. Pap. One great mess of pap. They can't stand the sight of blood. They can't think of what might happen when…"

"Hold on," I said. "That's impossible. There are doctors, after all. There must be surgeons…"

"Then you don't know?"

"Know what?"

"The doctors only plan the operations. It's the robots that do them."

"That can't be!"

"I'm telling you. I saw it myself. In Stockholm."

"And if a doctor must intervene suddenly?"

"I'm not sure. There may be a drug that partly nullifies the effects of betrization, for a very short time, but they keep it under wraps like you can't imagine. The person who told me wouldn't say anything specific. He was afraid."

"Of what?"

"I don't know, Hal. I think that they have done a terrible thing. They have killed the man in man."

"You exaggerate," I said weakly. "Anyway…"

"It's really very simple. He who kills is prepared to be killed himself, right?"

I was silent.

"And therefore you could say that it is essential for a person to be able to risk—everything. We are able. They are not. That is why they are so afraid of us."

"The women?"

"Not only the women. All of them. Hal?"

He sat up suddenly.

"What?"

"Did you get a hypnagog?"

"Hypna—that machine for learning while you sleep? Yes."

"Have you used it?" he almost shouted.

"No, what's the problem…?"

"You are lucky. Throw it into the pool."

"But why? What is it? Did you use one?"

"No. I had a hunch and listened to it while I was awake, although the instructions forbid that. Well, you'd never guess!"

I turned to him.

"What's in it?"

He looked at me grimly.

"Sweets. A regular confectionary, I'm telling you. That you should be calm, that you should be polite. That you should resign yourself to every unpleasantness, and if someone does not understand you or does not want to be good to you—a woman, in other words—it is your fault and not hers. That the greatest good is social equilibrium, stability, and so on and so on, in a circle, a hundred times. The conclusion: live quietly, write your memoirs, not for publication, of course, but just for yourself, engage in sports, and educate yourself. Mind your elders."

"A substitute for betrization," I muttered.

"Of course. And a lot more of the same: that one should never use force or even an aggressive tone toward anyone, and it is a great disgrace to strike anyone, a crime, even, for it causes a terrible shock. That under no circumstances should one fight, because only animals fight, that…"

"But wait," I said. "What if some wild animal escapes from a reserve … no … there are no wild animals any more…"

"No wild animals," he said, "but there are robots."

"What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying that one could give them an order to kill?"

"Yes."

"How do you know?"

"I don't know for sure. But they have to be prepared for emergencies. Even a betrizated dog can go mad, can't it?"

"But, then, that … wait a minute! So they can kill, after all? By giving orders? Isn't it the same thing, whether I do the killing or give the order?"

"Not for them. But it would be only in extremis, you understand. In the face of a calamity, a threat, such as the mad dog. Ordinarily it does not happen. But if we…"

"We?"

"Yes, for example, you and I—if we were to … you know … then, of course, the robots would attend to us, not they. They cannot. They are good."

He was silent for a moment. His broad chest, reddened now by the sun and the sand, heaved.

"Hal. If I had known. If I had known this! If … I … had … known … this…"

"Stop it."

"Have you had anything happen to you yet?"

"Yes."

"You know what I'm talking about."

"Yes. There have been two. One invited me, as soon as I left the station, although not exactly like that. I got lost at that damned station. She took me home."

"She knew who you were?"

"I told her. At first she was frightened, but later … advances of a sort—out of pity or not, I don't know—and then she got really scared. I went to a hotel. The next day … do you know who I met? Roemer!"

"Don't tell me! He must be, what, a hundred and seventy?"

"No, it was his son. Even so, the man is nearly a hundred and fifty. A mummy. Horrible. I talked with him. And you know what? He envies us…"

"There is nothing to envy."

"He does not understand that. Although, yes, there is. And then an actress. They call them realists. She was delighted with me: a true pithecanthropus! I went to her place, and escaped the next day. It was a palace. Magnificent. Flowering furniture, moving walls, beds that read your thoughts and wishes … yes."

"H'm. She wasn't afraid, eh?"

"No, she was afraid, but she drank something—I don't know what it was, some narcotic, maybe. Perto, something like that."

"Perto?"

"Yes. You know what it is? You've had it?"

"No," he said slowly. "I haven't. But that's the name of the thing that nullifies…"

"Betrization? No!"

"That's what the person told me."

"Who?"

"I can't tell you; I gave my word."

"All right. So that is why … that is why she…"

I broke off.

"Sit down."

I sat.

"And what about you?" I said. "Here I keep talking about myself…"

"Me? Nothing. That is—nothing has worked out for me. Nothing…" he repeated.

I was silent.

"What is this place called?" he asked.

"Clavestra. But the town is actually a few kilometers away. Say, let's go there. I wanted to have the car repaired. We'll come back cross-country—a little run. How about it?"

"Hal," he said slowly, "you old hothead…"

"What?"

His eyes were smiling.

"You think you can drive out the devil with athletics? You're an ass."

"Make up your mind, a hothead or an ass," I said. "What's wrong with it?"

"It won't work. Did you ever touch one of them?"

"Did … did I offend one? No. Why?"

"No, did you touch one of them?"

Finally I understood.

"There was no reason to. Why do you ask?"

"Don't."

"Why?"

"Because it's like striking an old woman. You understand?"

"More or less. You got into a fight?"

I tried not to show my surprise. Olaf had been one of the most self-controlled men on board.

"Yes. I made a perfect idiot of myself. It was on the first day. At night, to be exact. I couldn't get out of the post office—there was no door, only a kind of spinning thing. Have you seen one?"

"A revolving door?"

"No. I think it has to do with their controlling gravitation. In short, I spun around like a top, and some character who was with a girl pointed at me and laughed…"

The skin on my face seemed to grow tighter.

"Old woman or not," I said, "he probably won't laugh any more."

"No. He has a broken collarbone."

"They didn't do anything to you?"

"No. Because I had just got out of the machine and he provoked me—I didn't hit him right away, Hal. No, I asked what was so funny, since I had been away for so long, and he laughed again, pointing upward, and said, 'Ah, from that monkey circus?'"

"'Monkey circus'?"

"Yes. And then…"

"Hold on. Why 'monkey circus'?"

"I don't know. Perhaps he heard that astronauts are spun in centrifuges. I don't know because I wasn't talking to him by that time… So, that was that. They let me go, only from now on the Luna Adapt will have to do a better job on its new arrivals."

"There are others returning?"

"Yes. Simonadi's group, in eighteen years."

"Then we have time."

"Plenty."

"You have to admit that they are easygoing," I said. "You break his collarbone and they let you off like that…"

"I have the impression it was because of that 'circus,'" he said. "Even they are … toward us … you know. And they're not stupid. It would have caused a scandal. Hal, man—you don't know anything."

"Well?"

"Do you know the reason they didn't publicize our return?"

"There was something in the real. I didn't see it, but someone told me."

"Yes, there was. You would have died laughing if you had seen it. 'Yesterday, in the morning hours, a party of explorers returned to Earth from outer space. Its members are well. The scientific results of the expedition are now being studied.' The end, period."

"Are you serious?"

"Word of honor. And do you know why they did that? Because they fear us. That is also why they scattered us over the Earth."