Antipodes: Book Three of the Starship Selene I Series

By M. P. Rogers

The Selene I has left orbit, and Lifespanners inherit a paradise world after 400 years of domed existence on the toxic planet. But Lifespanners are not Immortals. They are a brilliant and passionate people who respond to the planets nature like trees in the wind. So ensues a story of endurance, the human spirit against sinister and powerful odds the few to which so much is owed in the challenges of a new genesis. Much depends upon the advancement of robots that prove themselves friends of an undesigned high order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Apr 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781469171685

M. P. Rogers

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Antipodes

M. P. Rogers

Copyright © 2012 by M. P. Rogers.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

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CONTENTS

PROLOGUE

1

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

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18

19

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BOOK THREE OF THE STARSHIP SELENE I SERIES

PROLOGUE

Twin planets hung in a firmament of moons and stars. One was a paradise world of implicit beauty, except for the South Pole where bald mountains stood in a lay of land and sea. They were not without grandeur, but the populace was Immortals demanding perfection, and so an architectural challenge was posed as to how the bald mountains might be beautified.

Being clever but not artistically creative, the Immortals were fortunate in having resource for this deficiency in the short-lived habitants of the twin planet whom they called Lifespanners. These people were gifted indeed, and eager to submit their creative genius to be rewarded with riches and prestige. Outstanding genius could earn residence on Sister World, and in certain cases, life-extension. Rare as this was, it offered real incentive to those of the short life.

While First Planet was also beautiful, it contained a killing toxin so that its million or so Lifespanners lived under the protection of a hemispheric dome—a technological marvel. Life was pleasant despite restriction of space. All providence was delivered by robots from the granaries, farms and gardens of the Glass City that thrived beneath invisible protection just a short distance from the dome.

Here on First Planet, all was governed by the Immortal Seneschal Julian. He was also a mediator between the two planets, arranger of all congress and the annual awards arbitration that was held in the High Courts of Justice in the Glass City. Once, on receiving an ideas request from Sister World, he was amused to note a formal requisition, graphically detailed, for suggestions and/or designs to beautify a large area of bald mountains. This the Seneschal gave with other requests to the Dome Governance, and not long afterwards, received a landscape painting, by a colorist fantasy artist, of a circular court of crystal mansions, domed and spired, like a glittering crown on the mountain tops. No means of accomplishment could be offered but the beautiful idea was irresistible. The Immortals accepted the painting with praise and generosity, but no certificate of award.

The picture was then placed into the hands of the builder robots on Sister World, and an architectural solution was found. Within two years a magnificent crystal court crowned the South Pole mountains like a gift from the stars—a sight every Immortal flew south to observe and enjoy whenever the notion struck. It was an achievement they liked to regard as their own, and they named the region Antipodes.

No one would choose to live at the South Pole. It was a place to visit, a sight to see from Southlands airport, and a pleasant trip at any time by hyper speed Dragonfly. The robots at the airport gave superb and silent service at any time.

It was therefore not a difficult thing for a man to fly two heavy containers, stolen from an ordinance depot on First Planet, to the Southlands airport of Sister World. The man then ordered the robots at Southlands to convey the containers to Antipodes. There he chose the most concealed and private residence beneath the crystal mansions where he would remain undetected.

Time and events would pass, all irrelevant unless a happening occurred on which to focus the rejuvenation of his powers. They were vanquished long ago but not entirely destroyed. Immortals held no interest for the man, but their involvement with Lifespanners was another matter. In them lay prospects of great interest, and their destiny demanded his closest watch.

Two centuries of progress came into being on Sister World—a constant embellishment of the arts, sciences and agriculture, until the planet was jewelled with human artistry and ingenuity, all serviced to perfection by robots. One line of the robots, inherited from ancient Earth, was human in face and form. Now they were stylized, handsome and highly advanced. This was due to the brilliance of one Dr. Anselm Lawrence, a Lifespanner who was made chief of the robotics industry on Sister World and granted life extension that provided youth for as long as the treatment was maintained.

It was this scientist of whom the man in Antipodes made special notice, and placed his keenest watch. The mind of humanity could not be known by the man in Antipodes; only could it be suspected. Events, however, could be known to him, and on one a great sureness. Whatever, the man’s intentions and possible power, would be sealed by a cosmic time frame—the diadem of the moons. This he knew, and the uncertainty of homo sapiens gave the tension of doubt to strengthen his straightened powers. He had only to will, to watch and to wait.

1

HUMANUS

Dr. Anselm Lawrence was an unsociable centenarian to the point of being rude at times, yet he stole the heart of radionics specialist, Mafanwye Pitt, at a single glance. His tall, thin frame and boyish appearance, accented by a wavy fore-lock, was her heart’s ideal. Though she knew he would never return her feelings, she also knew her own would be constant. He would remain her secret love. Now, in view of the humiliation being inflicted upon him by the Courts of Arcady, she would give him all the support that discretion allowed.

Immediate notice had been given by the Arcadian Assizes to Centreways Robotics, that the prototype Humanus was to be destroyed without delay upon reaching the premises. This was to be carried out under the witness and auspices of the Immortal Scientists Drs. Weir and Borghese, hitherto notified of this order.

The staff at Centreways Robotics was galvanized in disbelief at the sudden turn of events for their great chief scientist. He was flown back from Arcadia to the laboratory with his prototype constrained by two robots of the governance guards. When the main upper landing door of the building burst open, Lawrence, in a state of near apoplexy, ordered the robots to turn right in the direction of his office. This was not in accord with Magisterial instruction, but no-one thought to gainsay him, nor would they have dared to do so.

Lawrence was of one mind. Inside his office, he slammed the door and vented his rage on the robots restraining his masterpiece,

Take your hands off and de-activate immediately.

But they were not of his own laboratory. Robots of the Official Guards were programmed to respond only to orders of Governance. Lawrence was ignored. One of the guards retained his hold on the prototype. The other placed the Court Order on the famous scientist’s desk as though he were not present, and awaited the arrival of the two Immortals delegated to oversee the Court Sentence.

In sudden fear, Lawrence repeated his order for the robots to deactivate, but received the prompt reply,

Negate. Orders. and pointing to the inter-com, they instructed Call Dir-ec-tor.

Lawrence could not believe his ears. He sat down heavily at his desk, trying to think what to do. There had to be something or he would go mad. Grabbing the document on his desk, he read:

Dr. Lawrence, it is with profound dismay that we are brought to adjudicate what is to us an affront to ourselves and our way of life. Your prototype, Humanus, receives our condemnation as aberrant and unjustified. The prototype PH01 must be destroyed along with all material pertaining to the humanoid tendency of robots. Such innovation is strictly forbidden. Artificial life must never be allowed to exceed its purpose of servitude. Destruction of the prototype will take place immediately and carried out by the Immortal members of the staff of Centreways Robotics as directed in this matter by magisterial order.

After these harsh words there was light praise for the scientist’s genius, followed by a further order to reduce the ability of speech in all robots to the limit of positive and negative response. They were also to be rendered incapable of communication with humans by the written word or other means of interchange. An estimate of time and means for the execution of this program was required, also a signed commitment by the appointee within forty-eight hours.

Lawrence skimmed all this, to the closing words,

Let the scientist be advised that any advancement in robotics must remain based upon requirement of orders, which are the fuel and meaning of a robot’s existence.

Signed by the hand of the Immortal Ramona Garcia herself.

He shot the document to the floor. How dare they do this terrible thing. He was Lifespanner! His creations were his, not theirs to condemn. They were at liberty to reject a work, but not destroy it—his masterpiece! How dare they!

Engulfed by passion of hatred and grief, he was almost beside himself. Then suddenly out of his welter of feelings, the idea surfaced that he would create another Humanus in secret. Somehow he would evade the rigid controls of robot registration. He had done so before, and he would do it again.

He had the means.

In the back of his large office was an enclosed space he called his odds room—a storage place of handy components, a clothes and toiletry closet, plus his own cache safe, given to him by his only collaborator, Dr. Polyzoides on First Planet. He was the scientist who designed the humaniform Manikin with its stylized appearance, and with whom he had worked to create the Humanus. Polyzoides was unable to accept the award of a transfer to Sister World due to a cosset syndrome they called agoraphobia. Lawrence was obliged to travel to First Planet for hi collaboration.

Polyzoides’ work was advanced. He had integrated the anatomy of Lawrence’s prototype with its evolving life-like brain. The science was a mysterious contribution, perhaps made possible only with the combined use of the vade mecum. This instrument, garnered from the Philosophian voyagers, remained a mystery to present day science. Something was devised or discovered by those remarkable people that could only be classed as metaphysical, though the Immortals granted no credence to such a category. The vade mecum, a gold disk no larger than the palm of the hand, contained a numinous function complementary to its user, a mystery that could in no way be analyzed.

The two scientists kept the secret to themselves, thus confirming a bond between them. Polyzoides, who was in possession of a Manikin casing that had somehow escaped registration, gave it to Lawrence as a backup and support for their joint achievement. A positronic brain, pre-socialized, had been inserted in the casing in order to be prepared for activation at any time. This was a treasure of no use to Polyzoides alone. But for you, Lawrence, it is needed security.

Lawrence was grateful. He had no difficulty with transportation of the Manikin casing, as the Immortal Seneschal in the Glass City approved the entire bulk of his assemblage to Centreways Robotics on Sister World. No doubt the Seneschal knew the truth but he favored the scientist, and the matter was sealed.

Polyzoides had died shortly after their achievement, and Lawrence was left as sole beneficiary of his friend’s contribution. He therefore felt bound to submit their joint achievement to the magistracy, in order to give Polyzoides the recognition he deserved. The Immortals’ ruthless response was devastating.

Lawrence knew he would have to start work immediately or lose his mind. Yet in a bolt of suddenness came the realization that he could not create another Humanus without the vade mecum. This invaluable instrument he had lost on his last visit to First Planet. Each vade mecum being personal to its owner and not identifiable as such, he had not reported the loss, as even if found it would not be returned to him. They had been recalled as a safety measure. Each one being accounted for, it had seemed strange that no report was issued for the one that was missing.

He sat crumpled, like a broken man, which in a way he was. Being all scientist and not much otherwise, his manhood suffered like a child. He did have a mind, however; and although it could drive him to the pit of despair it could also take him to illustrious heights. On this he must depend to create another Humanus.

The idea held firm just for a moment, till something within him cried out like outraged motherhood—They can’t do this! I can’t let them kill Para! Breath caught in his throat and he raised his head, as someone spoke to him urgently,

Master!

Lawrence’s breast heaved as he came to himself with a start. The prototype was leaning over him,

Hurry if it is what you want:

Shocked and reflexive, Lawrence was out of the chair, following his prototype into the odds room without question or desire to know anything but what was taking place. The triple combination of the cache safe was opened and its contents withdrawn on silent rollers. The coverings were removed from the spare Manikin Polyzoides had given him, replete with positronic brain and random number CJ305.

With the Prototype’s help, the spare Manikin was lifted and seated on a chair. A heavy plug outlet was used to inject electrical impulse to the socialized brain. It took but a brief while for the vital signs to complete their stimulus, and the Manikin to greet his supposed maker,

Thank you for creating me.

The normal speech of original First Planet design, came as a merciful chance. But there was no time to consider anything, least of all Lawrence’s tender regard for all robots. Turning aside, he left the necessary instruction to Para, his prototype, who quickly pressed his own doomed number into the breast of the spare Manikin, explaining,

Your identity is PH01 prototype, genus Humanus. Authorities have ordered you to be destroyed. This is all the information you are obliged to give to the Drs. Weir and Borghese, and must refuse to say anything more. Your creator is very sorry about this, but he will reconstruct you very soon. Do you understand this, Manikin PHO1?

There was slight hesitation before the spare’s response, Affirm.

Then Para led the spare Manikin and set it between the robots he had deactivated, in place of himself, hesitating briefly before rushing back to the odds room where Lawrence stood dazed, not knowing what to do.

Master, go back to your desk.

Mindless, Lawrence rushed back and sat again at his desk, staring at the two robots that were grasping the passive Manikin in place of his prototype, while Para was in the odds room. What had taken place was a mystery. It could not be right, something had to be wrong, but he was unable to think properly, and someone was knocking at the door—what could he do?

Perhaps they weren’t knocking, it was his heart or his brain or something—until the knocking became loud and insistent. Then he knew. It was the staff Immortals, Dr. Weir and Dr. Borghese, who would oversee the sentence of the law, and his heart smote him again, till one of the guard robots extended an authoritative finger toward the door,

Op—en.

Lawrence did not move. The tension was unbearable, but he dare not relent. The knocking became pounding, till the robot guard, taking command, went to the door and opened it upon three persons who entered quickly, while others remained on the threshold.

The scientists went directly to their appointed task. Out of consideration they refrained from glancing at the chief, and directed themselves to the supposed prototype. There being no possible doubt as to its identity, yet must they ascertain the obvious fact under rule of Law.

Dr. Borghese, addressing the Manikin, State your identity?

The spare replied, Prototype PH01

Checking the breast plate: Your genus?

Humanus.

The sign was given to the robot guards, who prepared to follow the Immortals out of the office. The director stopped respectfully at the chief’s desk where Lawrence lay sprawled and ashen-faced. It was no act. Destruction of Polyzoides’ gift appalled him, and he could not prevent it.

If only he had not submitted the Humanus, but kept him secret against the world. Polyzoides was gone now, and without the vade mecum he could not hope to duplicate their wonderful achievement. He felt the grief of his old collaborator as well as his own, while full of anxiety for the Humanus in the odds room. His eyes closed in a wave of agony, unable to appreciate the Immortal director’s concern for his chief scientist, in rare Immortal sympathy.

The director left as the radionics specialist, Mafanwye Pitt, entered and placed a filigreed glass of brace, yum puffs and confection on the chief’s desk, and left abruptly.

And so the Governance sentence was carried out to the satisfaction of Justice, by the unquestioning minds of the two Immortal scientists, and those of the mystified and sorrowful Lifespanners.

Lawrence had eaten nothing since early morning. He drank the brace that was laced with a sedative and elixir, and ate a yum puff. Then he stood, found his balance, re-locked the door, and went to the odds room to sit on a hard little chair, unable to think.

The prototype emerged from the closet and stood waiting for the master to say something. Lawrence had difficulty.

They were Governance robots. Why did they let you do what you did?

Noting the scientist’s state of mind Para chose discretion,

They deactivated, Master. I signaled and you moved fast. We set up the spare Manikin and placed it between the guards in my stead.

In disorientation Lawrence accepted this. Something enormous had risen and saved his very existence. He knew he was thinking wildly, but he could not clarify himself. It didn’t matter just then. The magisterial verdict had been foiled—fooled. That was enough.

It was not a day for anyone to remain at the Laboratory. With the awful business being carried out, the staff did not want to remain. One by one they left the building, driving off in their swishers, till the parking lot lay void of all vehicles, even that of the director.

The chief scientist’s residence stood but a pleasant walk across the garden of paths. Lawrence and Para took this walk in the quiet of evening, when the first stars shone like diamonds through the lupinia trees. The scientist trod in a state of wonder that the Humanus walked beside him.

The whole procedure had taken a costly toll of Anselm Lawrence. But he had not lost his masterpiece and friend. Para was now free to move as he pleased amid the perfect camouflage of other Manikins; unsuspected by anyone anywhere, especially at Centreways Robotics.

It remained, however, the Immortals waited for an estimate of their unreasonable demands to abolish robot communication with humans, except for positive and negative response.

Why they would want to do such a thing Lawrence could not think. Yet even if this held a mote of logic, why not simply issue a law to that effect? It would be strictly obeyed and easily reversed if necessary. To disable established Manikins was not only criminal in his view, but an act that would bring trouble. There was already too much abuse by Immortals because they chose to regard all robots as mere machines, regardless of advancement, and expect unlimited response in the carrying out of orders. He was sure Manikins could not be thwarted. They would react in ways the Immortals may regret.

Lawrence did not want to consider the process of something so destructive and frustrating. Tormented with anxiety, he knew that if he put these arguments to the Immortals, the task would simply be given to another scientist, and he himself returned to First Planet. The idea was enough to unhinge him.

But what could he give for an estimate of time for research that would be plausible? They must know the sheer absurdity of their demand. Were they trying to trick him? Surely they must know that the positronic brain held unknowable complexities that depended upon education much like a human brain…

Of course, Immortals were ignorant of psychology. Unfortunately so was he, and no psychologists existed on Sister World. On First Planet real progress had been made in the field of mental health. The knowledge was necessary to an enclosed society. Immortals had never required doctors of any practice, and so all Lifespanners in the medical profession had no hope of candidacy for Immortal awards. They were the heroes.

Immortals knew nothing about the human psyche or the robotic positronic brain. But in his radical achievement of Para, fusion of some sort had taken place. This the Immortals had encountered in their proofing exams, and must have regarded the Humanus as a living being. He was undoubtedly a mystery, but Homo sapiens he was not.

Convinced now that the Immortals were tricking him, perhaps wanting to terminate his life-extension benefit, he made up his mind to foil them. He set Para to work in search of every kind of information available on the positronic brain. It took half a day and produced nothing he did not already know. The positronic brain was an invention of Ancient Earth more than fourteen hundred years ago. How much knowledge the Immortals had been able to glean and understand from the ancient voyages of the star ship Selene 1 was unknown. But they had given sufficient data to Lifespanners in hope of them developing the science.

This Lifespanners did. Their marvelous success in duplicating the difficult and lengthy process of the positronic brain was accomplished by a single man who was awarded life-extension and residence on Sister World, and was highly esteemed. Significant to Lawrence, however, was the fact that the man’s work was recorded, while his name was not. Yet that Lifespanner who re-invented the positronic brain was a genius.

Lawrence felt that if he were not more scientist than man, he would tell the Immortals straight, just how selfish and irrational they were. Which of course would be the very flip to earn him a quick return to First Planet. No justifying facts could change their lack of feeling and inexpert technocracy.

Para regarded his master in this absorbed state of chaos, wondering why he would allow himself to become so disordered. He said, as though to himself, It could be accomplished within a month, by a system of stations.

Lawrence started from his preoccupation. What can be done?

The problem that absorbs you.

The scientist leaned back, thinking of something else. Then bored with inept solutions, You mean make it a law. The Immortals can do that themselves. No. I think they may have a brilliant young scientist in mind, causing difficult decisions, and I am being tested.

There is another way, Master, if you will allow me to do it for you confidentially?

Lawrence turned aside in perplexity, What are you talking about?

I can carry out the Immortal directives for you, while you give the appearance of doing so.

Lawrence swivelled his chair and sat taut, staring. Then adopting an irritation he did not feel, I’m not following you, Para. Are we discussing the same thing?

Para did not answer, and Lawrence was suddenly aware of capabilities and qualities in his prototype that were still unknown to him. The full extent of his accomplishment not yet, perhaps never, would be known. But he had not looked for anything to cause personal concern.

Turning to face his friend and masterpiece, he said, Neither have I time to waste. Tell me how.

Allow me to demonstrate.

Using robots from the estate, Para demonstrated that without obvious means he was able to accomplish the Immortal’s demands. Five robots stood in his presence for a short while responding to questions, when, unreasonably, it seemed, none could speak other than answer ‘affirm’ or ‘negate’ nor could they communicate by the written word.

The master’s face was the picture of intensity.

Para said, You could do many in a single day, Master.

Lawrence stared in silence. When he spoke it was in difficulty.

How long?

One month plus travel and personal timing.

Then Dr. Anselm Lawrence cast aside professional integrity and accepted the solution. Using plausible scientific jargon to specify the procedure, he submitted a positive response to the Immortal Ramona Garcia, and a time estimate of two months, plus a reasonable margin.

And so it was that the scientist’s masterpiece came to his aid significantly for the second time.

Immortals acceptance of the estimate was immediate, and the work carried out so smoothly as to be a small matter. Completed in less than two months, the results brought a return to normalcy for the robotist. He was honored again for his work, by special presentation in the Autumn.

None of this appeased Lawrence, as he himself could not have carried out the work for which he was being honored. The achievement therefore brought home to him full realization of what he had done in creating the Humanus. It changed his relationship with the Manikin, and brought on his ever latent state of depression, alarmed about nothing, and incommunicative.

Eventually he broached the subject that irked him, using the name he had given with such pride to suggest a paragon: How did you do it, Para?

The Manikin did not answer.

I spoke to you. Tell me how you did it.

I thought you might not believe me, Master. But I used the power you gave to me. You could have carried out the procedure yourself, were you—

Lawrence interrupted impatiently, I asked you how.

Para drew back and said quietly, Mind control.

The scientist reacted strangely. Para, reading his mind, saw turgid thoughts where he was familiar with clarity. He said,

You were not listening, Master. The power that issues from my brain is your power that will manifest in you only when you realize it yourself.

What are you talking about? I’ve forgotten what little I knew about the human brain, and mind is still a mystery.

You must understand, Master. You are human and mutant.

Without looking at him or really understanding, Lawrence said hoarsely, How do you know this?

It came to me on First Planet.

What? When?

At the chapel of the incorrupt Philosophian.

What has that to do with it? How could I transmit to you something I’m not aware of myself?

From your essence.

Lawrence exuded his exasperation, You’re telling me you have intuition?

The Manikin was bound to repeat himself, I am saying that you are mutant.

Still the words did not register, Stop this jargon! I need to know what you did and how it was done, if it is remediable, and can it be taught to me?

It cannot be taught, Master. You are not receptive. I must have your trust as you have mine. We are mediators between Immortals and Lifespanners.

What arose in Lawrence at Para’s use of the pronoun ‘we’ struck the Manikin almost palpably, as coldness seemed to congeal about the scientist’s nagging fears. He stood and looked the Manikin in the eye distantly,

As an unmistakable Manikin you answer to me, subject to robotic laws.

Of course, Master.

And what word would you choose to name the means you used?

Again the careful consideration: There is no name. It is simply will of mind.

Could it cause damage?

No. It is the power of a mutant mind. I urge you to believe me, to trust me?

The master scientist could no longer do so. His teeth clenched in fear and dislike. He could not live under the threat of a powerful Manikin.

And how long will it be for this power to manifest in me?

I cannot say, Master, I only know it must. All that I am is of you. And you are mutant, Dr. Lawrence.

Prove it or I’ll think you capable of nonsense.

Confident of the scientist’s affection, the Manikin answered, Will me to do something. and as Lawrence’s face averted in protest, Order me telepathically—to prove to you.

Lawrence’s mind balked at the idea, unconsciously bidding him go to the window.’

Para did exactly that.

Lawrence stared, suddenly comprehending. He addressed the Manikin’s back, willing him mentally—Bring me the source of your study on telepathy.

Respectfully, Para returned to him and said quietly, There is no source of study on telepathy, Master.

Lawrence wondered whether or not Para knew he had been manipulated, Do what you can to advise me. he said meaninglessly, not wanting to think he willed a command. It spoiled their relationship, and likened himself to the superstitious strain of beliefs that existed on First Planet.

Then it occurred to him that Para in return was reading his mind, and this was not to be tolerated. Paragon he might be, yet he was Manikin, and like a man—only superior, powerful and progressive.

He could see now why Immortals were adamant about subjecting all robots to the necessity of orders. How plainly he could see now that both he and Polyzoides had been foolish idealists.

He was trembling with shame and dread. Something had to be done. Yet he could not destroy his masterpiece.

Perhaps if he exerted his will while the Manikin was relaxed with closed eyes, he, the scientist, would prove himself master of the situation.

Para, responding to the Master’s mind, reacted defensively. Then followed a charged silence, intensely dynamic, as Master and Manikin faced each other across the short space. Para reading the mind of Lawrence as though it were his own, knowing the Master was aware of this ability and would not tolerate it. Both reacted, both felt a current go through them before the moment dissipated.

Something had happened unknown to either, something that meshed in Para like a hard blow, jamming his thoughts. For the first time in his life he could not think. There was a lapse, unfamiliar to him. He was not sure, and went quickly to his room to lie down. He rested, and arose several hours later, feeling no better. Within a few days he could respond only in terms of Negate and Affirm.

Lawrence failed to notice, and kept exerting his thoughts, telling himself it was only an experiment. A shroud of misery fell about him, and he could no longer function normally, nor stand the Manikin’s proximity. He would stay in his office at the laboratory.

And Para—what became for him a traumatic image, was that of the Master speaking with his back turned to him, standing against the arched north window, the night sky glittering amid its wrought iron arabesques.

I’ve decided to give you your freedom. Another scientist from First Planet is awarded residence on Sister World and is posted here. I want no carry-over from this. I suggest that you report to Governance. You will have no trouble with a Centreways intaglio.

Were he able to speak, Para would have asked to remain, even knowing the futility. He was now the monstrosity of a mutant’s genius.

Lawrence said, You may leave in the morning.

It was the end and there was no point in waiting till morning. Nothing more was to be said or done. Leaving his room in perfect order, and taking nothing with him, Para left the mansion, and crossed the garden of paths. He needed to think deeply, and there was no better environment than space, height, and stars.

He walked the length of the Centreways building where he was first regarded by the Master with such pride of achievement, unable to get past the fact that he had been told to leave. He knew the Master would succumb to his depression and perhaps not survive. But there was nothing the Manikin could do but report to Governance for orders as a Manikin like all others. It would be simple enough, and something he had no name for, being deprived now of the ability to speak, except for positive and negative response.

He had walked past the air-drenching fragrance of night flowers, and very soon reached the steeply arched hill known as ‘The Bow’ which he quickly climbed. Once on top, looking down on the surrounding treetops and landscape, he was free to think. The boundless sky and stars above, the silvery darkness below, challenged the biggest thought of all—what was it all about, this existence of intelligence, wonder and sorrow?

All night long he stood and looked and turned and strolled, till the dawn came and the sun rose like a tinted pearl among seas of transparency. Then he descended the hill and reported