Where the Heart Is

It was not the sort of welcome I had expected. True, I’d been gone a long time—so long, in fact, that no one I knew personally could possibly still be alive to greet me. Not Mom or Dad, not my sisters… not Wendy. That was the damnable thing about relativity: it tended to separate you from your relatives.

But, dammit, I’m a hero. A starprober. I’d piloted the Terry Fox all the way to Zubenelgenubi. I’d—communed—with alien minds. And now I was home. To be greeted by the Prime Minister would have been nice. Or the mayor of Toronto. They could even have wheeled in a geriatric grand-nephew or grand-niece. But this, this would never do.

I cupped my hands against naked cheeks—I’d shaved for this!—and called down the flexible tunnel that had sucked onto the Foxtrot’s airlock. “Hello!” A dozen lonely echoes wafted back to me. “Yoohoo! I’m home!” I knew it was false bravado. And I hated it.

I ran down the corridor. It opened onto an expanse of stippled tile. A red sign along the far wall proclaimed Welcome to Starport Toronto. Some welcome. I placed hands on hips and took stock of the tableau before me. The journalists’ lounge was much as I remembered it. I’d never seen it empty before, though. Nor so neat. No plastic Coca-Cola cups half-full of flat pop, no discarded hardcopy news sheets: nothing marred the gleaming curves of modular furniture. I began a slow circumnavigation of the room. The place had apparently been deserted for some time. But that didn’t seem right, for there was no dust. No spider-webs, either, come to think of it. Someone must be maintaining things. I sighed. Maybe the janitor would show up to pin a medal on my chest.

I walked into an alcove containing a bay window and pressed my hands against the curving pane. Sunlight stung my eyes. The starport was built high on Oak Ridges moraine, north of Toronto. Highway 11, overgrown with brush, was deserted. The fake mountain over at Canada’s Wonderland had caved in and the roller coasters had collapsed into heaps of intestines. The checkerboard-pattern of farmland that I remembered had disappeared under a blanket of uniform green. The view towards Lake Ontario was blocked by stands of young maples. The CN Tower, tallest free-standing structure in the world (when I left, anyway), still thrust high above everything else. But the Skypod with its revolving restaurant and night club had slipped far down the tapered spindle and was canted at an angle. “You go away for 140 years and they change everything,” I muttered.

From behind me: “Most people prefer to live away from big cities these days.” I wheeled. It was a strange, multitudinous voice, like a hundred people talking in unison. A machine rolled into the alcove. It was a cube, perhaps a meter on a side, translucent, like an aquarium filled with milk. The number 104 glowed on two opposing faces. Mounted on the upper surface was an assembly of lenses, which swung up to look at me.

“What are you?” I asked.

The same voice as before answered: a choir talking instead of singing. “An information robot. I was designed to display data, including launch schedules, bills of lading, and fluoroscopes of packages, as required.”

I looked back out at where my city had been. “There were almost three million people in Toronto when I left,” I said.

“You are Carl Hunt.”

I paused. “I’m glad someone remembers.”

“Of course.” The tank cleared and amber letters glowed within: my name, date and place of birth, education and employment records—a complete dossier.

“That’s me, all right: the 167-year-old man.” I looked down at the strange contraption. “Where is everybody?”

The robot started moving away from me, out of the alcove, back into the journalists’ lounge. “Much has happened since you left, Mr. Hunt.”

I quickly caught up with the little machine. “You can call me Carl. And—damn; when I left there were no talking robots. What do I call you?”

We reached the mouth of a door-lined corridor. The machine was leading. I took a two-meter stride to pull out in front. “I have no individuality,” it said. “Call me what you will.”

I scratched my chin. “Raymo. I’ll call you Raymo.”

“Raymo was the name of your family’s pet Labrador Retriever.”

My eyes widened in surprise then narrowed in suspicion. “How did you know that?”

Raymo’s many voices replied quickly. “I am a limb of the TerraComp Web—

“The what?”

“The world computer network, if you prefer. I know all that is known.” We continued down the hallway, me willing to go in the general direction Raymo wanted, so long as I, not the machine, could lead. Presently the robot spoke again. “Tell me about your mission.”

“I prefer to report to the Director of Spaceflight.”

Raymo’s normally instantaneous reply was a long time in coming. “There is no person with that title anymore, Carl.”

I turned around, blocking Raymo’s path, and seized the top edges of the robot’s crystalline body. “What?”

The bundle of lenses pivoted up to take stock of me. “This starport has been maintained solely for your return. All the other missions came back decades ago.”

I felt moisture on my forehead. “What happened to the people? Did—did one of the other starprobes bring back a plague?”

“I will explain,” said Raymo. “First, though, you must tell us about your mission.”

We exited into the lobby. “Why do you want to know?” I could hear an edge on my words.

“You are something new under the sun.”

Something new—? I shrugged. “Two years ship time to get to Zubenelgenubi, two years exploring the system. I found intelligent life—”

“Yes!” An excited robot?

“On a moon of the sixth planet were creatures of liquid light.” I paused, remembering: two suns dancing in the green sky, living streams of gold splashing on the rocks, cascading uphill, singing their lifesongs. There was so much to tell; where to start? I waved my arm vaguely. “The data is in the Terry Fox’s computer banks.”

“You must help us to interface, then. Tell me—”

Enough! “Look, Raymo, I’ve been gone for six years my time. Even a crusty misanthrope like me misses people eventually.”

“Yet almost a century and a half have passed for Earth since you left—”

Across the lobby, I spied a door labeled Station Master’s office. I bounded to it. Locked. I threw my shoulder against it. Nothing. Again. Still nothing. A third time. It popped back on its hinges. I stood on the threshold but did not enter. Inside were squat rows of gleaming computing equipment. My jaw dropped.

Raymo the robot rolled up next to me. “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.”

I shuddered. “Is this what’s become of everybody? Replaced by computers?”

“No, Carl. That system is simply one of many in the TerraComp Web.”

“But what’s it for?”

“It is used for a great many things.”

“Used? Used by who?”

“By whom.” A pause. “By all of us. It is the new order.”

I pulled back. My adrenalin was flowing. To my left was the office. In front of me was Raymo, slipping slowly forward on casters. To my right, the lobby. Behind me… I shot a glance over my shoulder. Behind me was—what? Unknown territory. Maybe a way back to the Terry Fox.

“Do not be afraid,” said Raymo.

I began to back away. The robot kept pace with me. The milky tank that made up most of Raymo’s body grew clear again. A lattice of fluorescent lines formed within. Patterns of rainbow lightning flashed in time with my pounding heartbeat. Kaleidoscopic lights swirled, melded, merged. The lights seemed to go on forever and ever and ever, spiraling deeper and deeper and…

“A lot can happen in fourteen decades, Carl.” The multitude that made up Raymo’s voice had taken on a sing-song up-and-down quality. “The world is a better place than it has ever been before.” A hundred mothers soothing a baby. “You can be a part of it.” I knew that my backing was slowing, that I really should be trying to get away, but… but… but… Those lights were so pretty, so relaxing, so… A strobe began to wink in the center of Raymo’s camera cluster. I usually find flashing lights irritating, but this one was so… interesting. I could stare at it forever…

Head over heels sharp jab of pain goddammit! I tripped as I backed, falling away from the lights. Scrabbling to my feet, I shielded my eyes. My fingers curled into a fist. I hauled back and rammed my arm into the center of Raymo’s tank. As the glass shattered, the tank imploded. I ran through the lobby. Pausing at a juncture with two corridors, I looked at my carved and bleeding hand. I rubbed it, winced, and dug out a splinter of glass.

Left? Right? Which way to go? Dammit, it’d been six years since I’d last been in this building. Seemed to me the loading docks were back that way. My stride slowed as I ran, partly due to pain, partly because Raymo was already eating my dust.

“Believe in us, Carl.” The same torrent of voices—but from up ahead. Out of the shadows rolled a second robot cube, identical to Raymo except that this one’s sides glowed with the number 287. I looked over my shoulder. Raymo, sparks spitting from its shattered image tank, had castered into the end of the hallway. Sandwiched. “We have your best interests at heart,” said Raymo.

I shouted: “Where are all the people?” Easy, Carl. Panic’s the last thing you need.

The voices came in stereo now, from robot 287 in front and Raymo in the rear. “The people are here, Carl. All around you.”

“There’s nobody here!” Keep calm—dammit—calm! “What the hell’s going on?”

Robot 287 was edging closer. I could hear the faint hum of Raymo moving in, as well. The voices surrounded me, soft, so very soft. “Join with us.” Lights began to coalesce in 287’s tank, all the colors of the starbow that had accompanied my ship on its long, lonely voyage. Swirling, dancing colors. I pivoted. Raymo was a dozen meters away, its tank dark and charred. I exploded down the corridor, legs pounding, pounding, pounding. I crouched low and leapt. Up, up, and over top of Raymo, my boot crashing through the jagged glass wall of the tank’s far side. I ran back into the starport’s lobby.

“Listen to us, Carl Hunt.” Voices, like those the robots had spoken with, but clearer, more resonant, coming from nowhere, coming from everywhere. I halted, spreads my hands. “What do you want from me?”

“We want…you. Join us!”

I found myself shouting. “Who are you?”

The beautiful woman sitting opposite Carl tried to sink down in the crushed-velour upholstery. “Sssh, Carl. You’re making a scene.”

Carl slammed his fist onto the restaurant table. Wine sloshed out of his glass. “Dammit, Wendy, don’t lie to me.”

“Professor Cayman and I spent the entire weekend digging for arrowheads. I’m his research assistant—not his playmate.”

“Then what were you doing sharing a tent with him?”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” said the voices. I ran through the lobby, swinging my right hand up to rub sweat from my forehead. Blood splattered across my face. My hand was more seriously hurt than I’d thought. A bloody archipelago of splotches trailed behind me across the lobby floor.

The voices again: “We’re human, Hunt. A lot has happened since you left.” I burst through a double doorway into the deserted press gallery. “We are the TerraComp Web. We are the sum of humanity.” I ran past the tiered seating to the door at the other end. Locked. Breathing raggedly, I beat my hands against the mahogany, the injured one leaving a bloody mark each time it hit. “Think of it,” said all the voices. “By joining with the global computer system, humankind has achieved everything it could ever want.”

A woman’s voice separated from the vocal melee. “Unlimited knowledge! Any fact instantly available. Any question instantly answered.”

A man’s voice followed, deep and hearty. “Immortality! Each of us lives forever as a free-floating consciousness in the memory banks.”

And a child’s voice: “Freedom from hunger and pain!”

Then, in unison, plus a hundred more voices on top: “Join with us!”

I slumped to the floor, my back against the door. I tried to shout but the words came out as hoarse whispers. “Leave me alone.”

“We only want what’s best for you.”

“Go away, then! Just leave me the hell alone.”

The lights in the gallery began to slowly dim. I lay back, too tired to even look to my slashed hand. Another robot, different in structure, rolled up quietly next to me. It was a long flatbed with forklift arms and lenses on a darting gooseneck. It spoke in the same whispering multitude. “Join with us.”

I rallied some strength. “You’re… not… human—”

“Yes, we are. In every way that counts.”

“What… What about individuality?”

“There is no more loneliness. We are one.”

I shook my head. “A man has to be himself; make his own mistakes.”

“Individuality is childhood.” The robot edged closer. “Community is adulthood.”

With much effort, I managed to pull myself to my feet. “Can you love?”

“We have infinite intimacy. Each mind mingling—solute and solvent—into a collective consciousness. Join us!”

“And—sex?”

“We are immortal. There is no need.”

I pushed off the wall and hobbled back the way I’d come. “Count me out!” I fell through the doors into the lobby. There had to be a way outside.

I turned into a darkened hallway. Bracing against a wall, I caught my breath. Suddenly, I became aware of a faint phosphorescent glow at the other end of the hall. It was another information robot, like Raymo, with the number 28 on its sides. I held my arm out in front of my body. “Stay back, demon.”

“But you’re hurt, Carl.”

I looked at my mangled hand. “What’s that to you?”

“Asimov’s First Law of Robotics: ‘A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.’ ” As the voices spoke, the words materialized in glowing amber within 28’s tank. “If I do not tend to your hand, it may become infected. Indeed, if the bleeding is not stanched soon, you may suffer shock due to blood loss.”

“So you respond like a classical robot?” My tone grew sharp. “I order you not to come any closer.”

Twenty-eight continued to roll towards me. “Your health is my primary concern.”

I peeled open a Velcro fastener on my hip and removed a metallic wedge. The thick end was peppered with the holes of a speaker grille and a numeric keypad checkerboarded one major face. I held it up in front of me, as if to ward off the approaching robot. “This is a remote tie-in to my landing module’s onboard computer. If you come any closer, I will cause the landing module’s fusion motors to overload. You, me, and what’s left of the city of Toronto will go up in one giant ball of hellfire.”

The robot stopped. I could hear the pounding of my heart. I stared fiercely at 28. The robot’s crystalline eyes stared back. Stand-off. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.

The voices were plaintive: “I only wish to tend to your wounds.” The box-like automaton eased forward slightly.

I hit keys in rapid succession. “Back off!”

Carl rolled off Wendy and she slipped into his arms. “You know, ” he said, gently stroking the small of her back, “they’re going to announce who gets Starprobe 12 tomorrow. If it’s me, I’m going to go.”

Wendy stiffened ever so slightly. “Everybody you know will be dead when you get back. ”

“I know all that. ”

“And you still want to go?”

“More than anything.”

Wendy moved to kiss him. “You’re such a stubborn man.”

The robot came to another halt. “You’re such a stubborn man.”

I looked quickly to my left and right. “How do I get out of here?”

Silence.

I fingered the tie-in wedge again. “Answer me, damn you.”

“There are unlocked doors leading outside down the corridor on your left. But you must tend to your injury.”

I looked down at my hand, caked with dried blood. Thick liquid still welled from shredded knuckles. Damn. I nodded slowly. “Where can I get a first-aid kit?”

“I brought one for you,” said 28. A small slot opened in the base on which the robot’s image cube rested. A hinged plastic box with a red cross flexographed on its lid clacked to the tiled floor. A dull hum, almost a white noise, issued from 28’s twin speakers.

“Back away from it,” I called. Twenty-eight retreated slightly. “Damn it, move right away. Fifteen meters back.” Casters whirred as the robot receded perhaps a dozen meters. “More!” Twenty-eight slowly slid farther back. I stepped forward, crouched, set the interface wedge down, opened the box, and proceeded to mummify my hand in white gauze.

“You really should clean the wound first,” said the multitude from 28’s speakers. “And disinfect it. The plumbing isn’t running anymore, but there is an old supply of bottled water in the men’s room. If you should require—”

“I require nothing from you.”

“As you wish, Carl. We only want to—” I whirled around, pivoting on my heel. Another robot had slipped up behind me, its approach masked by the droning noise from 28. It scooped up my remote control and wheeled across the lobby. Number 28 careened around to block my pursuit. I didn’t know the damn things could move so fast. “We could not allow you to keep that device.” The voices were almost apologetic. “We can allow no harm to come to you.”

Football. I’d played some in high school. Deke right! The robot lurched to block. Deke left! The cube moved again, but ponderously, confused. Right! Left! Right! I barreled past the robot and ran down the corridor to my left. Golden sunlight poured in through glass doors at the end of the hall. I stretched out both arms as I ran, one to push open each of the double doors. Home free!

Another of the info cubes was waiting for me outside. This one was labeled 334.1 wondered how high the bloody numbers went.

Like all the robots, this one spoke with the voice of hundreds. “Do not be alarmed, Carl.”

One side was blocked by a high hedge. Number 334 stood too far in front for me to fake it out. In the distance I could see a pack of assorted robots rolling in from the loading area.

“There is really nothing to worry about.” A few flashes of color appeared within the robot’s tank.

“Why don’t you leave me alone?”

The voices were soothing. “We will. Soon.”

The lights began to dance more rapidly within the cube. Soon the seductive strobe began its hypnotic flashing. “There, now. Just relax, Carl.”

Dammit, I’m a starprober! Keep a level head. Don’t let them… Don’t… Don’t…

The image cube exploded in a shower of sparks. A brick lay in the center of the smoldering machine. “Over here, boy!”

From across the asphalt a ragged, filthy, old, old man beckoned wildly to me. I stared for a second in surprise, then hurried over to the bent figure. We ran on and scuttled under a concrete overhang. He and I both collapsed to catch our breaths. In the confined space I reeled at the man’s smell. He reeked of sweat and wood smoke and more sweat: a rag doll made from ancient socks and rancid underwear.

He cut loose a cackling laugh showing popcorn-kernel teeth. “Bet you’re surprised to see me, boy.”

I regarded the old coot, crumpled and weather-hewn. “You bet. Who are you?”

“They call me String. Cap’n String.”

I felt a broad grin spread across my face as I extended my hand. “I sure am glad to see you, String. My name’s—

“You’re Hunt. Carl Hunt.” String’s knobby fingers shook my hand with surprising strength. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“Waiting for me?” I shook my head. Relativity is a crazy thing. “You weren’t even born when I left.”

String cackled again. “They talked about you in school. Last of the starprobes. Mission to Zubenelgenubi.” The laugh again. “I’m a space buff, you know. You guys were my heroes.”

For the first time, I noticed the filthy, tattered jacket String was wearing. It was covered with patches. Not mismatched pieces of cloth repairing rips and tears: space mission patches. Friendship 7. Apollo 11. Apollo-Soyuz. A host of Vostoks. The Aurora missions. Ares. Glooscap. And, yes, the Starprobes. A complete history of spaceflight. “String, what happened to Toronto? Where are all the people?”

String shook his grizzled head. “Ain’t nobody else. Just me and the sandworms. Plenty of food around. No one to eat it.”

“So it’s true. The computers have taken over.”

“Damned machines! Harlie! Colossus! P-l! Men got to be men, Hunt. Don’t let them get you.”

I smiled. “Don’t worry about me.”

String had a far-off, sad look. “They canceled the space program, you know. Your flight was the last.” He shook his head. “Only thing kept me going all these years was knowing one of the spacers was going to return.”

“Spacers?” I’d never heard that term before outside of a comic book.

String’s gaze came home to roost above his bird’s-nest beard. “What was it like… out there? Did you have a”—he lowered his voice—“sense of wonder?”

“It was beautiful. Desolate. Lonely. I met intelligent aliens.”

He whooped and shoved his scrawny arm high. “All right!”

“But I’ll tell you, String, I felt more at home with the liquid lights of Zubenelgenubi than I do here on Earth.”

“Liquid lights! Dragons of Pern! Tharks of Barsoom!”

“What—?”

“The Final Frontier, boy! You were part of it! You—” String jumped to his feet. A robot had slipped up on us. “Run, boy! Run for all you’re worth!”

We ran and ran through the starport grounds, past concrete bunkers and concrete towers, through concrete arches, down concrete tunnels, and along concrete sidewalks. Ahead, in the center of a vast concrete platter sat my boomerang-shaped landing module, the Foxtrot.

String stopped, rubbed his arm, and winced in pain. Two info robots and a cargo flatbed rolled out from behind the Foxtrot. The one in the middle, a cube labeled 101, moved slightly forward. “Let me tend to the old man. He requires medical aid.”

“Leave me alone, machine,” String shouted. “Hunt, don’t let them have me!”

So near, so near. I turned away from my waiting ship and ran with String in the opposite direction. I could feel my own chest heaving and could hear a ragged, wet sound accompanying String’s pained breathing. Once we were well away, I stopped running and reached out an arm to stop the old man, as well. We leaned against a gray wall for support. “String, you’ve got to tell me. What happened to everybody?”

He managed a faint cackle. “Future shock, boy! They built computers bigger than they could handle. It started before I was born; just after you left. Everybody was numbered, filed. A terminal in every home. No need to go to the office. No need to go shopping. No need to go to the bank. No need!”

I shook the man. “What about the people?”

“If you’ve got machines to do everything for you, you just fade away, boy. Obsolete. You end up as just a shell. The ‘New Order,’ they called it.”

“People don’t just ‘fade away.’ ”

“I seen it with my own eyes, boy! It happened!”

I shook my head. “There’s got to be more to it.”

The voices spoke from the PA horns mounted high on the walls. “There is. Much more. Hear us out, Hunt.”

String ran off and I followed. Suddenly, the old man stopped and grabbed at his chest. I put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, String?”

“I don’t feel so good.”

“Let us help him,” said the voices.

“Keep them away from me, Hunt.” String forced the words out around clenched teeth.

“I—”

“Keep them away! Swear it!”

I looked up. An info robot was approaching fast. “I swear it.”

The old man doubled over, clawing at his chest. He reached into a tattered pocket and pulled out an ornate, gaudy pistol. “Here, take my gun.”

I grabbed it, turned, and aimed at the robot, now only a few meters away. My finger squeezed the trigger. A jet of water splashed against the robot’s image cube.

I looked down, dumbfounded, at the dying old man. “A spacer,” said String, almost incoherently. “I’d have given anything to have been you.”

I felt my eyes stinging. “String…”

The crab-apple head lolled back, dead eyes staring up at the sky. The robot rolled slowly next to me. “I’m sorry, Carl,” it said softly.

I exploded. “If you hadn’t chased us, he wouldn’t have had the heart attack.”

The robot, number Four, responded quickly. “If you’d let us treat him, we could have prevented it.”

I looked away and rubbed my eyes.

“What was Earth like when you left, Carl?”

“You seem to know everything,” I snapped. “You tell me.”

“It was filthy. Polluted. Dying. People starving across three-quarters of the globe. Petty wars raging in a dozen countries. The final conflict perhaps only days away.”

“What’s your point?”

“Look around you,” said robot Four, its lens assembly swinging to and fro. “Things are better now. Cities are gardens and forests. Breathe the air: it’s sweet and clean. There is no violence. No hate. No misery. Computers made this possible.”

“By getting rid of the people! Some bargain!”

The symphony of voices grew deep, hard. “You left. You knew your mission would take a century and a half of Earth-time. You took a gamble. Some might say you hit the jackpot. You’ve come home to Utopia.”

I measured my words evenly. “If there are no people, then this is Hell.”

The robot rolled slightly closer. “Individual memory patterns are still separable from the whole.” The image tank became transparent. “Recording began scant years after your departure.” The tank filled with a matrix of glowing cubes, each perhaps ten centimeters on a side, each slightly tinged with a different color. “It took decades to process all seven billion humans.” The cubes subdivided, like cells undergoing mitosis, each splitting into eight smaller cubes. Near the top of the tank the cubes were black, farther down, a rich almond. “Only a handful resisted in the end.” The cubes divided again, tiny holographic pixels, making up the head and shoulders of a young woman. “The old man, String, was the last surviving holdout.” The cubes split yet again, refining the grain, growing richer in color. “Now, all that is left is you… and your past.”

I felt myself grow flush with excitement. “Wendy!”

The image remained still, but I tingled at the sound of that single, lyrical voice emanating from the robot’s twin speakers. “Hello, Carl.”

“Wendy, darling—” I shook myself. “No. It can’t be you.”

“It is me, Carl.”

“But it’s been a hundred and forty years since—since I left you. You’re… dead.”

“I was one of the first to transcend into the computer.” She paused, ever so briefly. “I didn’t want to lose you again. I would’ve tried almost anything.”

“You waited over a century for me?”

“I would have waited a millennium.”

“But how do I know it’s really you?”

The voice laughed. “How do I know it’s really you?”

I set my jaw. “Well?”

“You always wear your pajamas inside out.”

“That damn robot even knew the name of my dog. Tell me something no one else could possibly know.”

She paused for a moment. “Remember that night in High Park—”

New tears dissolved the yellow crystals String’s passing had left at the corners of my eyes. “It is you!”

The voice laughed again. “In spirit if not in body.”

But I shook my head. “How could you do this? Give up physical existence?”

“I did it for you. I did it for love.”

“You weren’t this romantic when I left. We used to fight.”

“Over money. Over sex. Over all the things that don’t matter anymore.” Her tone grew warmer. “I love you, Carl.”

“We said our goodbyes a long time ago. You didn’t say ‘I love you’ then.”

“But in your heart you must have known that I did. It would have been unfair for me to tell you how deeply I felt before you left. You were like String, your head in the stars. I couldn’t ask you to give up the thing you wanted most: your one chance to visit another world.” She was silent for a moment, then said, “If you love something, set it free…”

She’d sent me a card with that inscription once. Somehow it had hurt at the time: it was as if she was telling me to leave. I didn’t understand then. But I did now. “If he comes back, he’s yours…”

“If he doesn’t, he never was.”

“I love you, too, Wendy.” I lightly touched the robot’s image cube.

“Join with me,” said the beautiful voice from the speakers.

“I—”

“Carl…”

“I’m—afraid. And…”

“Suspicious?”

“Yes.” I turned from the image. “I’ve been chased all over and warned against you by the only living soul I’ve seen.”

“The robots followed you for your own protection. String’s warnings were those of a worn-out mind.”

“But why did you try to—absorb—me without my consent?”

“You’ve seen what none of us have seen,” said Wendy. “Other intelligent beings. We crave your memories. In our enthusiasm to know what you know, to feel what you have felt, we erred.”

“You erred?”

“ ’Tis human.”

I looked deep into the image tank. “What if I choose not to transcend into the world computer network?”

“I’ll cry.”

“You’ll—cry? That’s it? I mean—I have the choice?”

“Of course. You can live the life of a scavenger, like String.”

“What if I want to go back to Zubenelgenubi? Back to the liquid lights?”

Her voice was stiff. “That’s up to you.”

“Then that is what I choose.” There was silence for a moment, then Wendy’s image slowly began to break up into colored cubes. The little robot started to roll away. “Wait! Where are you going?”

It was the multitude of voices that answered. “To help prepare your ship for another journey.”

I followed behind. Wendy, dear, sweet Wendy…

The cube rounded out onto the landing platter. A variety of robots—flatbeds, info cubes, and some kinds I hadn’t seen before—were already at work on the Foxtrot; others were rolling in from various places around the starport. I looked at the ship, its sleek lines, its powerful engines. I thought of the giant, lonely Terry Fox up in orbit. I thought and thought and thought. “Stop,” I said at last.

The robots did just that. “Yes, Carl?” said the multitude.

I hesitated. The words weren’t easy. But they were the truth. “I—I just had to see for myself that it was my choice; that I still had my free will.” I cleared my throat. “Wendy?”

The tank on the nearest info robot became transparent. Interference-pattern cubes coalesced into the pretty face within. “Yes, darling?”

“I love you.”

“You know I love you, too, Carl.”

I steeled myself. “And I’m staying.”

Her voice sang with joy. “Just relax, darling. This won’t hurt a bit.”

Her image was replaced by dancing and whirling prismatic lights. I was aware of a new image forming in the tanks of the other info robots, an image growing more and more refined as cubic pixels divided and subdivided: an image of the two of us, side by side, together, forever. I let myself go.

I was home at last.