Quietly he moved away and found a corner where he could crouch and
hide.
Above his head he heard the cargo gang at work, talking back and forth,
then the screech of crating and the thump of bales and boxes being hauled
out to the ramp.
Hours passed, or they seemed like hours, as he huddled there. He heard
the cargo gang bringing something down from one of the upper levels and he
made a sort of prayer that they’d not come down to this lower level – and he
hoped no one would remember seeing him come in ahead of them, or if they did
remember, that they would assume that he’d gone out again.
Finally it was over, with the footsteps gone. Then came the pounding of
the ramp as it shipped itself and the banging of the port.
He waited for long minutes, waiting for the roar that, when it came,
set his head to ringing, waiting for the monstrous vibration that shook and
lifted up the ship and flung it off the planet
Then quiet came and he knew the ship was out of atmosphere and once
more on its way.
And knew he had it made.
For now he was no more than a simple stowaway. He was no longer Richard
Daniel, runaway from Earth. He’d dodged all the traps of Man, he’d covered
all his tracks, and he was on his way.
But far down underneath he had a jumpy feeling, for it all had gone too
smoothly, more smoothly than it should.
He tried to analyze himself, tried to pull himself in focus, tried to
assess himself for what he bad become.
He had abilities that Man had never won or developed or achieved,
whichever it might be. He was a certain step ahead of not only other robots,
but of Man as well. He had a thing, or the beginning of a thing, that Man
had sought and studied and had tried to grasp for centuries and had failed.
A solemn and a deadly thought: was it possible that it was the robots,
after all, for whom this great heritage had been meant? Would it be the
robots who would achieve the paranormal powers that Man had sought so long,
while Man, perforce, must remain content with the materialistic and the
merely scientific? Was he, Richard Daniel, perhaps, only the first of many?
Or was it all explained by no more than the fact that he alone had been
exposed to hyperspace? Could this ability of his belong to anyone who would
subject himself to the full, uninsulated mysteries of that mad universe
unconstrained by time? Could Man have this, and more, if he too should
expose himself to the utter randomness of unreality?
He huddled in his corner, with the thought and speculation stirring in
his mind and he sought the answers, but there was no solid answer.
His mind went reaching out, almost on its own, and there was a diagram
inside his brain, a portion of a blueprint, and bit by bit was added to it
until it all was there, until the entire ship on which he rode was there,
laid out for him to see.
He took his time and went over the diagram resting in his brain and he
found little things – a fitting that was working loose and he tightened it,
a printed circuit that was breaking down and getting mushy and be
strengthened it and sharpened it and made it almost new, a pump that was
leaking just a bit and he stopped its leaking.
Some hundreds of hours later one of the crewmen found him and took him
to the captain.
The captain glowered at him.
“Who are you?” he asked.
“A stowaway,” Richard Daniel told him.
“Your name,” said the captain, drawing a sheet of paper before him and
picking up a pencil, “your planet of residence and owner.”
“I refuse to answer you,” said Richard Daniel sharply and knew that the
answer wasn’t right, for it was not right and proper that a robot should
refuse a human a direct command.
But the captain did not seem to mind. He laid down the pencil and
stroked his black beard slyly.
“In that case,” he said, “I can’t exactly see how I can force the
information from you. Although there might be some who’d try. You are very
lucky that you stowed away on a ship whose captain is a most kind-hearted
man.”
He didn’t look kind-hearted. He did look foxy. Richard Daniel stood
there, saying nothing.
“Of course,” the captain said, “there’s a serial number somewhere on
your body and another on your brain. But I suppose that you’d resist if we
tried to look for them.”
“I am afraid I would.”
“In that case,” said the captain, “I don’t think for the moment we’ll
concern ourselves with them.”
Richard Daniel still said nothing, for he realized that there was no
need to. This crafty captain had it all worked out and he’d let it go at
that.
“For a long time,” said the captain, “my crew and I have been
considering the acquiring of a robot, but it seems we never got around to
it. For one thing, robots are expensive and our profits are not large.”
He sighed and got up from his chair and looked Richard Daniel up and
down.
“A splendid specimen,” he said. “We welcome you aboard. You’ll find us
congenial.”
“I am sure I will,” said Richard Daniel. “I thank you for your
courtesy.”
“And now,” the captain said, “you’ll go up on the bridge and report to
Mr. Duncan. I’ll let him know you’re coming. He’ll find some light and
pleasant duty for you.”
Richard Daniel did not move as swiftly as he might, as sharply as the
occasion might have called for, for all at once the captain had become a
complex diagram. Not like the diagrams of ships or robots, but a diagram of
strange symbols, some of which Richard Daniel knew were frankly chemical,
but others which were not.
“You heard me!” snapped the captain. “Move!”
“Yes, sir,” said Richard Daniel, willing the diagram away, making the
captain come back again into his solid flesh.
Richard Daniel found the first mate on the bridge, a horse-faced,
somber man with a streak of cruelty ill-hidden, and slumped in a chair to
one side of the console was another of the crew, a sodden, terrible
creature.
The sodden creature cackled. “Well, well, Duncan, the first non-human
member of the Rambler’s crew.”
Duncan paid him no attention. He said to Richard Daniel: “I presume you
are industrious and ambitious and would like to get along.”
“Oh, yes,” said Richard Daniel, and was surprised to find a new
sensation – laughter – rising in himself.
“Well, then,” said Duncan, “report to the engine room. They have work
for you. When you have finished there, I’ll find something else.”
“Yes, sir,” said Richard Daniel, turning on his heel.
“A minute,” said the mate. “I must introduce you to our ship’s
physician, Dr. Abram Wells. You can be truly thankful you’ll never stand in
need of his services.”
“Good day, Doctor,” said Richard Daniel, most respectfully.
“I welcome you,” said the doctor, pulling a bottle from his pocket. “I
don’t suppose you’ll have a drink with me. Well, then, I’ll drink to you.”
Richard Daniel turned around and left. He went down to the engine room
and was put to work at polishing and scrubbing and generally cleaning up.
The place was in need of it. It had been years, apparently, since it had
been cleaned or polished and it was about as dirty as an engine room can get
– which is terribly dirty. After the engine room was done there were other
places to be cleaned and furbished up and he spent endless hours at cleaning
and in painting and shinning up the ship. The work was of the dullest kind,
but he didn’t mind. It gave him time to think and wonder, time to get
himself sorted out and to become acquainted with himself, to try to plan
ahead.
He was surprised at some of the things he found in himself. Contempt,
for one – contempt for the humans on this ship. It took a long time for him
to become satisfied that it was contempt, for he’d never held a human in
contempt before.
But these were different humans, not the kind he’d known.
These were no Barringtons. Although it might be, he realized, that he
felt contempt for them because he knew them thoroughly. Never before had he
known a human as he knew these humans. For he saw them not so much as living
animals as intricate patternings of symbols. He knew what they were made of
and the inner urgings that served as motivations, for the patterning was not
of their bodies only, but of their minds as well. He had a little trouble