I cami; and the shield between reason and feeling begins to crack. I had sung, of my darling dead,
“No motion has she now, no force; She neither hears nor sees;
Roll’d round in earth’s diurnal course, With rocks, and stones, and trees.”
Peace, at least. But if the memory-storage is not permanent but circulating; if, within those gloomy caverns of tubes and wire and outerspace cold, some remnamit of her psyche must flit and flicker, alone, unremembering, aware of nothing hut having lost life—No!
I sniite the harp amid shout so the roomn rings: “Give her back! Or I’ll kill you!”
– SUM finds it expedient to chuckle; and, horribly, the smile is reflected for a moment on the Dark Queen’s hips, though otherwise She never stirs. “And how do you propose to do that?” It asks me.
It knows, I know, what I have in mind, so I counter: “How do You propose to stop me?”
“No need. You’ll be considered a nuisance. Finally someone will decide you ought to have psychiatric treatment. They’ll query My diagnostic outlet. I’ll recommend certain excisions.”
“On the other hand, since You’ve sifted mny mind by miow, and since You know how I’ve affected people with my songs—even the Lady yonder, even Her— wouldn’t you rather have me working for You? With words like, ‘0 taste, and see, how gracious the Lord is; blessed is the man that trusteth in him. 0 fear the Lord, ye that are his saints; for they that fear him lack nothing.’ I can make You into God.”
“In a sense, I already ani God.”
“And in another sense not. Not yet.” I can endure no more. “Why are we arguing? You made Your decision before I woke. Tell me and let me go!”
With an odd carefulness, SUM responds: “I’m still studying you. No harm in admitting to you, My knowledge of the human psyche is as yet iniperfeet. Certain areas won’t yield to computation. I don’t know precisely what you’d do, Harper. If to that uncertaimity I added a potentially dangerous precedent—”
“Kill me, then.” Let my ghost wander forever with hers, down in Your cryogenie dreams.
“No, that’s also inexpedient. You’ve mnade yourself too conspicuous and controversial. Too many people know by now that you went off with the Lady.” Is it possible that, behind steel and energy, a nonexistent hand brushes across a shadow face in puzzlement? My heartbeat is thick in the silence.
Suddenly It shakes nie with decision: “The calculated probabilities do favor your keeping your promises and making yourself useful. Therefore I shall grant your request. However—”
I am on my kmiees. My forehead knocks on the floor until blood rumis into my e\es. I hear through storm winds:
“—testing must continue. Your faith in Me is not absolute; in fact, you’re very skeptical of what you call My goodness. Without additional proof of your willingness to trust Me, I can’t let you have the kind of importance which your getting your dead back fromn Me would give you. Do you understand?”
The question does not sound rhetorical. “Yes,” I sob.
“Well, then,” says my civilized, almost amiable voice, “I computed that you’d react much as you have done, and prepared for the likelihood. Your woman’s body was re-created while you hay under study. The data which make personality are now being fed back into her neurones. She’ll be ready to leave this place by the time you do.
“I repeat, though, there has to be a testing. The prdcedure is also necessary for its effect on you. If you’re to be My prophet, you’ll have to work pretty closely with Me; you’ll have to undergo a great deal of reconditioning; this night we begin the process. Are you willing?”
“Yes, yes, yes, what must I do?”
“Only this: Follow the robot out. At some point, she, your woman, will join you. She’ll be conditioned to walk so quietly you can’t hear her. Don’t hook back. Not once, until you’re in the upper world. A single glance behind you will be an act of rebellion against Me, and a datuni indicating you can’t really be trusted
and that ends everything. Do you understand?”