"She will serve the Imago implicitly, as do we."
"Will she have any time to herself? Any social life? Will she get to read any books, or splash in the ocean, or sleep an hour late?"
"Such things are meaningless to the Imago."
"Well, then, I think I have a glimmering of what you don't. I can see why she might hesitate just to step into this role."
"Please explain this to us."
"Tappy wants to live!" he exclaimed. "She's not a robot! She's had so little joy of life, and now maybe she has a chance-- and she'll have to throw it all away and get into harness as the Imago. No chance at all to be a child or a girl, just to change from one kind of freak to another. No wonder she's afraid to move ahead!"
"It is true that we do not understand the urges of human life," Abe said. "Either in their acceptance or their denial." He glanced at Candy, and Jack realized that none of them understood why he had not simply made sexual use of the woman when she suggested it. Maybe other galactic creatures had no hang-ups about that sort of thing. "However, the Imago may do as she desires. Nothing is denied her. She may splash in water or gaze at a text if she wishes."
"But she won't want to, you said."
"Past manifestations of the Imago have not had incidental interests of the flesh." "Because you had seven years to train them," Jack said. "There was no place for such things in your curriculum."
"True. What is your point?"
Jack took a deep breath. "You are right. I really do understand Tappy in a way that you don't."
"Therefore it may be possible to make the Imago functional in the current host, with your help, despite the extreme brevity of training. This is what we ask of you."
"You want me to talk Tappy into seeing and talking, so you know she is 'functional,' so she can step right into harness now as the Imago."
"Yes. And thereafter, you must serve as her immediate adviser, so that she does not misuse the power of the Imago."
"And you don't care how I do it. I can talk to her, have sex with her, anything, just so long as she snaps to."
"Yes."
"And you will be advising me what to advise her, so that my own ignorance doesn't mess things up."
"True."
"How do you know I will do what you advise?"
"That was ascertained in the survey."
Jack was gaining respect for that survey. It hadn't seemed like much, but obviously they had fathomed his motives. If he agreed to the deal, he would honor it.
"And why do you figure she'll do what I tell her to?"
"Because she loves you. This is a phenomenon we understand no better than we do the source of the power of the Imago, but we have seen its effect. She is immediately responsive to your will."
"But I don't love her!"
"Therefore you are objective. This is appropriate."
Jack ground his teeth. "Why don't you take a flying fuck at the nearest sun?"
"This is a rhetorical question?"
"This is a nonrhetorical no. I won't do that to Tappy."
Abe paused only that fraction of a second that passed for machine confusion. "Why?"
"Because it isn't fair to Tappy. She may be the host for the Imago, but she deserves some joy of life, and I refuse to be the one who denies that to her. Especially I refuse to toy further with her emotions. She never did deserve that."
"It is concern for her larger welfare that motivates you?"
"Yes. Want to verify it in your survey chamber?"
"No. We accept this. But we must remind you that Tappy's alternatives and ours are limited. We believe that the course we ask of you is best in the circumstance."
"Maybe you'd better spell out those alternatives for me."
"The first we have described: you will work with her, under our guidance, in this manner circumventing the training we are unable to provide."
"Got it."
"The second is to delay until the Gaol arrive and capture her. The seven of us will then be destroyed, and Tappy will be cocooned for the duration of her human life, allowed neither freedom nor death." "God, no! I heard about that. No way."
"The third is the easiest and perhaps best, but we suspect you will object to it also."
"Maybe. Let's have it." He figured he had them on the run now.
"To destroy the host immediately, freeing the Imago for a future host who may have better prospects."
Then Jack knew he had lost his ploy. Of course that made sense! They served the Imago, not the host. They did have an easy way out. But it was impossible for him. Tappy had to live!
"You win. I will cooperate in the first course."
"We thought you would. However, your reactions have been irregular."
"But I have a condition."
"Is this something that will facilitate your effort?"
"I think so. You have told me the bleak alternatives. Now I'm telling you that you can't treat Tappy like a machine. You want me to make her do things which she fears will make her independent of me. That's the one kind of thing she won't do for me: help me get rid of her. Not if she knows what she's doing."
"We do not follow your logic."
"You don't have to. Just take my word for it. If I have to do your dirt, it has to be my way."
"What is your way?"
"Put us in your greenhouse."
Again that pause. "If this is not effective, we shall have to destroy both of you before the Gaol arrive."
They were machines. They did not bluff. He was putting his life on the line, and Tappy's. "Just don't jump the gun, okay?"
"You are asking us not to act prematurely?"
"Yes."
"Then we shall do it your way. When she is able to see you and talk to you, you must emerge from the garden. Then we will know that the two of you are ready.
Jack nerved himself, and gave himself no time to waver "Then get on with it. Where's Tappy?"
The room widened. There stood Tappy, in the green dress and yellow sash he had imagined during the survey, with the matching ribbon She was unscarred, and her feet were in yellow slippers, without trace of any leg brace. Her body seemed to have filled out somewhat, though that could have been the enhancement of the dress There was an intangible glow about her, which could have been the animation of the strengthening Imago, or of the love they said she felt for him, Jack. She was, to his eyes, at once young and vulnerable and in need of protection and absolutely beautiful in her own right.
Then he saw that she held a book in her hand. That would be The Little Prince. He felt like laughing and crying, without being quite sure why.
"Tappy," he said
She turned toward the sound of his voice, smiling. In her face was sheer adoration. But that was not what shocked him
It was that both he and the AI had seriously misjudged the situation in one vital respect. There was no chance of his deceiving or betraying Tappy. He would never do that. It was that his objectivity, which they depended on, was threatened.
He was in the process of falling in love with her. Then the chamber faded, and strange vegetation appeared around them. They were in the garden.
Chapter 6
The three-day garden, Jack thought.
The many-colored wonder around him, the exotic plants and queer insects, the multitude of birdsongs would, under other circumstances, have thrilled him. He would have run from this fascinating growth to that fascinating growth and dragged Tappy behind him while he chattered away, describing everything he saw, moving her hand so that she could feel the trunks and leaves and fruits and berries, all of them strange and delightful.
Not now. All he could think of was the time limit they had. Three days. He had to perform a miracle before they had passed. And he was no god. God, he was no god!
The flaming colors and the varied shapes he saw did not blaze loveliness and form beauty. They imaged forth despair.
He closed his eyes to shut out the garden. He needed to think without distractions. A human in an unfamiliar place tended to think unfamiliar thoughts. It did not slide along the old groove, it lacked the oil of the accustomed, it halted because of the faction of the strange. True, the unfamiliar would, in time, become the familiar. But time was what he did not have.
He felt Tappy's left hand touch his right shoulder, move down his arm, find his right hand, and slip hers into his. It was as if the correct key had been inserted into the correct lock. But, for some reason, the key could not turn.
He said, "It'll be all right, Tappy We'll make it."
He opened his eyes. She was standing by his side, her head turned to look at him. Look? She could not see. If he did not find a way soon to restore her vision, both of them would be dead and forever sightless. That thought soared like a silent scream from the garden and drilled into the sky.
He was close to breaking down.
Become at ease with the surroundings, he told himself. Then you can think straight, whatever pressure you might be under. Maybe.
The sky was blue, and the sun, now straight overhead, looked like Earth s. It could be real or it could be an illusion made by the AI. It made no difference. It was a clock. When it was at the zenith for the fourth time, it would mark the end of the third day.
Oh, Time! Run slowly! Flow no faster than a glacier!
Still holding Tappy's hand, he turned toward her. She was smiling as if she knew something he did not. He was going to ask her if she really did when he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He switched hands and kept on turning. The object was a huge tent that looked like one of those he'd seen in Arabian Nights movies. Caliph Haroun al-Rashid's or Aladdin's. It was scarlet with strange green, yellow, black, and white symbols on it, with a wide entrance over which sheer drapes fell, with symbol-bearing flags fluttering in a light breeze. He led Tappy into its cool interior. The ground was covered with very thick Oriental-type rugs displaying abstract designs. Six rooms were within, gauzy drapes forming their walls. In the center of the entrance room was a marble fountain with running water. A faint quite-pleasant musky odor was everywhere.
He found a table large enough for six diners. On it were many covered dishes and silver cups and cutlery. In two other rooms were beds suspended from the overhead poles. One room contained a washbowl, a bathtub, and a toilet. Plenty of towels, washrags, soap, toothbrushes, toothpaste, and toilet paper. Everything, in fact, including cosmetics, that they could possibly need. Much more than they could use in three days.
"Maybe we'll have guests," he murmured.
Since neither was hungry, they went back outside. He was silent for a long while as they walked through the garden. He led her by the hand, but, often, she stopped when her free hand felt something interesting. Then she caressed it until she had the shape and texture and odor of the tree bole or flower or bush branch or berry in her mind.
Once, while she was doing that, he said, "You're like one of the four blind men who felt the elephant. You can feel a part of the elephant, so you think you know how all of it looks."
He paused for emphasis.
"But! But if you could see, you would know what an elephant really looks like! And if you could talk, you could describe how the elephant looks to those who can't see."
She frowned with puzzlement.
He said, "So, okay, you haven't heard that story."
He told her the ancient Arabian tale of the four blind men who had, for the first time in their life, a chance to feel an elephant. When asked what it "looked" like to them, each gave a different answer. The man who'd felt the tail said the elephant was like a rope. The second, having fingered the trunk, said the beast resembled a large snake. The third groped around a leg and reported that the elephant was undoubtedly shaped like a living hairy monolith, was, in fact, a very tall uniped. The fourth felt a tusk and said that the beast was more like a hard-shelled fish than anything else.
"I may not remember that grade-school story very well," Jack said. "But it was something like that. You get the idea. Feeling and hearing aren't enough. You can't get the whole picture, the true picture, of the world unless you can see."
He waited for a reaction. She was expressionless for a minute or so while they stood there. Then her face became sad, and a tear oozed from her left eye. She gestured with her free hand as if she were signaling hopelessness. At least, that was how he interpreted it. It could have indicated helplessness.
"What if those blind men only had to open their eyelids to see?" he said harshly.
He hurt inside. The pain resonated with hers, but he could not be too tender, too careful of bruising her feelings.
"If they had refused to see... well, they should've been kicked in the ass."
A second amoeba-shaped tear crawled out and ingested the first. And she pulled her hand away from his.
"Oh, hell!" he murmured.
Doing this was like attacking her with a spear equipped with a blade on each end. He stabbed himself and her at the same time.
They were standing by a tree with a twenty-foot-wide trunk at the ground level. Instead of bark, it had a transparent and skill-smooth covering. Below it were blue and red networks. The finger-thick red tubes and the pencil-thick blue tubes pulsed alternately. The trunk bent abruptly just above the ground, became horizontal, then curved into an upward spiral. The trunk narrowed as it ascended, becoming a thin tip when a hundred feet high.
Atop it was a flower which looked like a Christmas-tree star. Corkscrew branches bearing round purple leaves grew from the trunk halfway up it.
Jack thought he saw the vertical part of the tree move itself slightly toward him. It almost had the air of an eavesdropper bending his head to hear better. No. Must be his imagination. But, several seconds later, something fast slammed into the tree a few feet above him. Instead of bouncing off, it clung with eight tiny legs. The legs telescoped from below the buttercup-yellow body, which was hemispherical and as large as a half-coconut. It had no head or wings that Jack could see. Then, from the bottom center of its body, a thin and stiff member extended downward. Its sharp tip plunged through the glassy skin into a red tube. The skin rippled violently. The thing, insect, whatever, was propelled from the skin. It fell onto its back and lay there while its legs telescoped into themselves, the red-fluid-tipped proboscis became limp, and the yellow body turned green and then black.