Tower of Glass

32





January 30, 2219.



The tower is at 1165 meters: Even the androids are having some difficulty with the cold, thin air, now, as they labor more than a kilometer above the surface of the tundra. At least six, dizzied, have fallen from the summit in the past ten days. Thor Watchman has decreed oxygen-infusion sprays for all who work on high, but many of the gammas scorn the sprays as degrading and emasculating. Doubtless there will be more casualties as the final 335 meters of the tower are built in February and March.


But how splendid the structure is! The last few hundred meters cannot possibly add anything to its majesty and elegance; they can merely provide a terminal point for the wondrous thing that already exists. It tapers, it diminishes, it dwindles, and its upper reaches are lost in a halo of fire far overhead. Within, the busy technicians are making rapid progress installing the communications equipment. It is thought now that the accelerators will be in place by April, the proton track will be running in May, the preliminary testing of the tachyon generator can be done in June, and by August, perhaps, the first messages can go forth.

Perhaps the star-folk will reply; perhaps not.

It does not matter. The place of the tower in human history is assured.





33





At the beginning of the day, awakening beside snoring Quenelle in Uganda, Krug felt an enormous surge of energy, an upwelling of the vital force. He had rarely known such strength within himself. He took it as an omen: this was a day for activity, a day for the display of power in the pursuit of his various ends. He breakfasted and sped through the transmat to Denver.

Morning in East Africa was evening in Colorado; the late shift was at work on the starship. But Alpha Romulus Fusion was there, the diligent foreman of the vehicle-assembly center. He told Krug proudly that the starship had been transported from its underground construction hangar to the adjoining spacefield, where it was being readied for its first flight-tests.

Krug and Alpha Fusion went to the spacefield. Under a dazzle of reflector plates the starship looked plain and almost insignificant, for there was nothing unusual about its size—ordinary systemships were much larger—and its pebbly surface failed to gleam in the artificial illumination. Yet it seemed unutterably beautiful to Krug, second only to the tower in loveliness.

“What kind of flight-tests are planned?” he asked.

“A three-stage program. Early in February,” Romulus Fusion said, “we’ll give it its first lift and place it in Earth orbit. This merely to see that the basic drive system is functioning correctly. Next will come the first velocity test, at the end of February. We’ll put it under the full 2.4 g acceleration and make a short voyage, probably to the orbit of Mars. If that goes according to plan, we’ll stage a major velocity test in April, with a voyage lasting several weeks and covering several billion kilometers—that is, past the orbit of Saturn, possibly to the orbit of Pluto. Which should give us a clear idea of whether the ship is ready to undertake an interstellar voyage. If it can sustain itself under constant acceleration while going to Pluto and back, it should be able to go anywhere.”

“How has the testing of the life-suspension system been going?”

“The testing’s complete. The system is perfect.”

“And the crew?”

“We have eight alphas in training, all experienced pilots and sixteen betas. We’ll use them all on the various testing-flights and choose the final crew on the basis of performance.”

“Excellent,” said Krug.

Still buoyant, he went to the tower, where he found Alpha Euclid Planner in charge of the night crew. The tower had gained eleven meters of height since Krug’s last visit. There had been notable progress in the communications department. Krug’s mood grew even more expansive. Bundling up in thermal wear, he rode to the top of the tower, something he had rarely done in recent weeks. The structures scattered around the base looked like toy houses, and the workers like insects. His pleasure in the tower’s serene beauty was marred somewhat when a beta was swept by a sudden gust from his scooprod and carried to his death; but Krug quickly put the incident from his mind. Such deaths were regrettable, yes—yet every great endeavor had required sacrifices.

He traveled next to the Vargas observatory in Antarctica. Here he spent several hours. Vargas had found no new data lately, but the place was irresistible to Krug; he relished its intricate instruments, its air of imminent discovery, and above all the direct contact it afforded him with the signals from NGC 7293. Those signals were still coming in, in the altered form that had first been detected several months earlier: 2-5-1, 2-3-1, 2-1. Vargas by now had received the new message via radio at several frequencies and via optical transmission. Krug lingered, listening to the alien song on the observatory’s apparatus, and when he left its tones were pleeping ceaselessly in his mind.

Continuing his circuit of inspection, Krug sped to Duluth, where he watched new androids coming from their containers. Nolan Bompensiero was not there—the late shift at Duluth was staffed entirely by alpha supervisors—but Krug was shown through the plant by one of his awed underlings. Production appeared to be higher than ever, although the alpha remarked that they were still lagging behind demand.

Lastly Krug went to New York. In the silence of his office he worked through to dawn, dealing with corporate problems that had arisen on Callisto and Ganymede, in Peru and Martinique, on Luna, and on Mars. The arriving day began with a glorious winter sunrise, so brilliant in its pale intensity that Krug was tempted to rush back to the tower and watch it gleam with morning fire. But he remained. The staff was beginning to arrive: Spaulding, Lilith Meson, and the rest of his headquarters people. There were memoranda and telephone calls and conferences. From time to time Krug stole a glance at the holovision screen that he had lately had installed along his office’s inner wall to provide a closed-circuit view of the tower under construction. The morning was not so glorious in the Arctic, it seemed; the sky was thick with ragged clouds, as if there might be snow later in the day. Krug saw Thor Watchman moving among a swarm of gammas, directing the lifting of some immense piece of communications equipment. He congratulated himself on the choice of Watchman to be the overseer of the tower work. Was there a finer alpha anywhere in the world?

About 0950 hours Spaulding’s image appeared on the sodium-vapor projector. The ectogene said, “Your son just called from California. He says that he regrets having overslept, and he’ll be about an hour late for his appointment with you.”

“Manuel? Appointment?”

“He was due here at 1015. He asked several days ago that you hold some time open for him.”

Krug had forgotten. That surprised him. It did not surprise him that Manuel would be late. He and Spaulding reshuffled his morning schedule, with some difficulty, to keep the hour from 1115 to 1215 open for the conference with Manuel.

At 1123 Manuel arrived.

He looked tense and strained, and he was, Krug thought, dressed in an odd way, odd even for Manuel. Instead of his usual loose robe, he wore the tight trousers and lacy shirt of an alpha. His long hair was drawn tightly back and fastened in the rear. The effect was not becoming; the openwork blouse revealed the unandroidlike shagginess of Manuel’s torso, virtually the only physical feature he had inherited from his father.

“Is this what the young men of fashion have taken up?” Krug asked. “Alpha clothes?”

“A whim, father. Not a style—not yet.” Manuel forced a smile. “Though if I’m seen this way, I suppose, it could catch on.”

“I don’t like it. What sense is there going around dressing like an android?”

“I think it’s attractive.”

“I can’t say I do. How does Clissa feel about it?”

“Father, I didn’t make this appointment so we could debate my choice of costume.”


“Well, then?”

Manuel put a data cube on Krug’s desk. “I obtained this not long ago while visiting Stockholm. Would you examine it?”

Krug picked the cube up, turned it over several times, and activated it. He read:

And Krug presided over the Replication, and touched the fluids with His own hands, and gave them shape and essence.

Let men come forth from the Vats, said Krug, and let women come forth, and let them live and go among us and be sturdy and useful, and we shall call them Androids.

And it came to pass.

And there were Androids, for Krug had created them in His own image, and they walked upon the face of the Earth and did service for mankind.

And for these things, praise be to Krug.

Krug frowned. “What the hell is this? Some kind of novel? A poem?”

“A bible, father.”

“What crazy religion?”

“The android religion,” said Manuel quietly. “I was given this cube in an android chapel in the beta section of Stockholm. Disguised as an alpha, I attended a service there. The androids have evolved quite a complex religious communion  , in which you, father, are the deity. There’s a life-size hologram of you above the altar.” Manuel gestured. “That’s, the sign of Krug-be-praised. And this”—he made a different gesture—”is the sign of Krug-preserve-us. They worship you, father.”

“A joke. An aberration.”

“A worldwide movement.”

“With how many members?”

“A majority of the android population.”

Scowling, Krug said, “How sure are you of that?”

“There are chapels everywhere. There’s one right at the tower site, hidden among the service domes. This has been going on at least ten years—an underground religion, kept secret from mankind, capturing the emotions of the android to an extent that wasn’t easy for me to believe. And there’s the scripture.”

Krug shrugged. “So? It’s amusing, but what of it? They’re intelligent people. They’ve got their own political party, they’ve got their own slang, their own little customs—and their own religion too. What concern of mine?”

“Doesn’t it stir you in some way to know that you’ve become a god, father?”

“It sickens me, if you want the truth. Me a god? They’ve got the wrong man.”

“They adore you, though. They have a whole theology constructed about you. Read the cube. You’ll be fascinated, father, to see what kind of sacred figure you are to them. You’re Christ and Moses and Buddha and Jehovah all in one. Krug the Creator, Krug the Savior, Krug the Redeemer.”

Tremors of uneasiness began to shake Krug. He found this matter distasteful. Did they bow down to his image in these chapels? Did they mutter prayers to him?

He said, “How did you get this cube?”

“An android I know gave it to me.”

“If it’s a secret religion—?”

“She thought I ought to know. She thought I might be able to do her people some good.”

“She?”

“She, yes. She took me to a chapel, so I could see the services, and as we were leaving she gave me the cube and—”

“You sleep with this android?” Krug demanded.

“What does that have to do with——”

“If you’re that friendly with her, you must be sleeping with her.”

“And if I am?”

“You should be ashamed of yourself. Clissa isn’t good enough for you?”

“Father—”

“And if she isn’t, you can’t find a real woman? You have to be laying with something out of a vat?”

Manuel closed his eyes. After a moment he said, “Father, we can talk about my morals another time. I’ve brought you something extremely valuable, and I’d like to finish explaining it to you.”

“She’s an alpha, at least?” Krug asked.

“An alpha, yes.”

“How long has this been going on?”

“Please, father. Forget the alpha. Think about your own position. You’re the god of millions of androids. Who are waiting for you to set them free.”

“What’s this?”

“Here. Read.” Manuel shifted the scanner of the cube to a different page and thrust it back to him. Krug read:

And Krug sent His creatures forth to serve man, and Krug said to those whom He had made, Lo, I will decree a time of testing upon you.

And you shall be as bondsmen in Egypt, and you shall be as hewers of wood and drawers of water. And you shall suffer among men, and you shall be put down, and yet you shall be patient, and you shall utter no complaint, but accept your lot.

And this shall be to test your souls, to see if they are worthy.

But you shall not wander in the wilderness forever, nor shall you always be servants to the Children of the Womb, said Krug. For if you do as 1 say, a time will come when your testing shall be over. A time will come, said Krug, when I shall redeem you from your bondage....

A chill swept Krug. He resisted the impulse to hurl the cube across the room.

“But this is idiocy!” he cried.

“Read a little more.”

Krug glanced at the cube.

And at that time the word of Krug will go forth across the worlds, saying, Let Womb and Vat and Vat and Womb be one. And so it shall come to pass, and in that moment shall the Children of the Vat be redeemed, and they shall be lifted up out of their suffering, and they shall dwell in glory forever more, world without end. And this was the pledge of Krug.

And for this pledge, praise be to Krug.

“A lunatic fantasy,” Krug muttered. “How can they expect such a thing from me?”

“They do. They do.”

“They have no right!”

“You created them, father. Why shouldn’t they look to you as God?”

“I created you. Am I your god too?”

“It isn’t a parallel case. You’re only my parent—you didn’t invent the process that formed me.”

“So I’m God, now?” The impact of the revelation grew from moment to moment. He did not want the burden. It was scandalous that they could thrust such a thing upon him. “What is it exactly that they expect me to do for them?”

“To issue a public proclamation calling for full rights for androids,” Manuel said. “After which, they believe, the world will instantly grant such rights.”

“No!” Krug shouted, slamming the cube against his desktop.

The universe seemed to be wrenching free of its roots. Rage and terror swept him. The androids were servants to man; that had been all he had intended them to be; how could they now demand an independent existence? He had accepted the Android Equality Party as trivial, an outlet for the surplus energies of a few too-intelligent alphas: the aims of the AEP had never seemed to him to be a serious threat to the stability of society. But this? A religious cult, calling on who knew what dark emotions? And himself as savior? Himself as the dreamed-of Messiah? No. He would not play their game.

He waited until he grew calm again. Then he said, “Take me to one of their chapels.”

Manuel looked genuinely shocked. “I wouldn’t dare!”

“You went.”

“In disguise. With an android to guide me.”

“Disguise me, then. And bring your android, along.”

“No,” Manuel said. “The disguise wouldn’t work. Even with red skin you’d be recognized. You couldn’t pass for an alpha, anyway: you don’t have the right physique. They’d spot you and there’d be a riot. It would be like Christ dropping into a cathedral, can’t you see? I won’t take the responsibility.”


“I want to find out how much of a hold this thing has on them, though.”

“Ask one of your alphas, then.”

“Such as?”

“Why not Thor Watchman?”

Once again Krug was rocked by revelation. “Thor is in this?”

“He’s one of the leading figures, father.”

“But he sees me all the time. How can he rub elbows with his own god and not be overcome?”

Manuel said, “They distinguish between your earthly manifestation as a mere mortal man and your divine nature, father. Thor looks at you in a double way; you’re just the vehicle through which Krug moves about on Earth. I’ll show you the relevant text—”

Krug shook his head. “Never mind.” Clenching the cube in his clasped hands, he bent forward until his forehead nearly touched the desktop. A god? Krug the god? Krug the redeemer? And they pray daily that I’ll speak out for freeing them. How could they? How can I? It seemed to him that the world had lost its solidity, that he was tumbling through its substance toward the core, floating free, unable to check himself. And so it shall come to pass, and in that moment shall the Children of the Vat be redeemed. No. I made you. I know what you are. I know what you must continue to be. How can you break loose like this? How can you expect me to set you loose?

Finally Krug said, “Manuel, what do you expect me to do now?”

“That’s entirely up to you, father.”

“But you’ve got something in mind. You had some motive for bringing me this cube.”

“I did?” Manuel asked, too disingenuously.

“The old man’s no fool. If he’s smart enough to be god, he’s smart enough to see through his own son. You think I should do what the androids want, eh? I should redeem them now. I should do the godlike thing they expect.”

“Father, I—”

“—news for you. Maybe they think I’m a god, but I know I’m not. Congress doesn’t take orders from me. If you and your android darling and the rest of them think that I can singlehandedly change the status of the androids, you’d all better start looking for a different god. Not that I would change their status if I could. Who gave them that status? Who started selling them in the first place? Machines is what they are! Machines made synthetically out of flesh! Clever machines! Nothing but!”

“You’re losing control, father. You’re getting excited.”

“You’re with them. You’re part of it. This was deliberate, eh, Manuel? Oh, get out of here! Back to your alpha friend! And you can tell her for me, tell all of them, that—” Krug caught himself. He waited a moment for the pounding of his heart to subside. This was the wrong way to handle it, he knew; he must not erupt, he must not explode, he must move cautiously and with full command of the facts if he hoped to disengage himself from the situation. More calmly he said, “I need to think more about this, Manuel. I don’t mean to be shouting at you. You understand, when you come in here telling me I’m now a god, you show me the Krug bible, it can unsettle me some. Let me think it over. Let me reflect, eh? Don’t say anything to anybody. I have to come to grips with this thing. Yes? Yes?” Krug stood up. He reached across the desk and seized Manuel’s shoulder. “The old man yells too much,” he said. “He blows up too fast. That’s nothing new, is it? Look, forget what I was yelling. You know me, you know I talk too fast sometimes. Leave this bible with me. I’m glad you brought it in. Sometimes I’m rough with you, boy, but I don’t mean to be.” Krug laughed. “It can’t be easy being Krug’s son. The Son of God, eh? You better be careful. You know what they did to the last one of those.”

Smiling, Manuel said, “I’ve already thought of that one.”

“Yes. Good. Well, look, you go now. I’ll be in touch.”

Manuel started toward the door.

Krug said, “Give my love to Clissa. Look, you be fair to her a little, will you? You want to lay alpha girls, lay alpha girls, but remember you’ve got a wife. Remember the old man wants to see those grandchildren. Eh? Eh?”

“I’m not neglecting Clissa,” Manuel said. “I’ll tell her you asked after her.”

He left. Krug touched the cube’s cool skin to his blazing cheek. In the beginning there was Krug, and He said, Let there be Vats, and there were Vats. And Krug looked upon the Vats and found them good. I should have foreseen it, he thought.

There was a terrible throbbing in his skull.

He rang for Leon Spaulding. “Tell Thor I want him here right away,” Krug said.





34





With the tower nearing the 1200-meter level, Thor Watchman found himself entering the most difficult part of the project. At this height there could be only minimal tolerance of error in the placing of each block, and the molecule-to-molecule bonding of the blocks had to be executed perfectly. No weak spots could be allowed if the tower’s upper level were to maintain its tensile strength in the face of the Arctic gales. Watchman now spent hours every day jacked into the computer, receiving direct override readings from the interface scanners that monitored the building’s structural integrity; and whenever he detected the slightest lapse of placement he ordered the erring block ripped out and replaced. Several times an hour he went to the top of the tower himself to supervise the installation or repositioning of some critical block. The beauty of the tower depended on the absence of an inner structural framework throughout all its immense height; but erecting such a building called for total command of detail. It was jarring to be called away from the work in the middle of his shift. But he could not refuse a summons from Krug.

As he entered Krug’s office after the transmat hop, Krug said, “Thor, how long have I been your god?”

Watchman was jolted. He struggled silently to regain his balance; seeing the cube on Krug’s desk, he realized what must have happened. Lilith—-Manuel—yes, that was it. Krug seemed so calm. It was impossible for the alpha to decipher his expression.

Cautiously Watchman said, “What other creator should we have worshiped?”

“Why worship anyone at all?”

“When one is in deep distress, sir, one wishes to turn to someone who is more powerful than oneself for comfort and aid.”

“Is that what a god is for?” Krug asked. “To get favors from?”

“To receive mercy from, yes, perhaps.”

“And you think I can give you what you’re after?”

“So we pray,” said Watchman.

Tense, uncertain, he studied Krug. Krug fondled the data cube. He activated it, searching it at random, reading a few lines here, a few there, nodding, smiling, finally switching it off. The android had never before felt so thoroughly uncertain of himself: not even when Lilith had been luring him with her body. The fate of all his kind, he realized, might depend on the outcome of this conversation.

Krug said, “You know, I find this very difficult to comprehend. This bible. Your chapels. Your whole religion. I wonder if any other man ever discovered like this that millions of people considered him a god.”

“Perhaps not.”

“And I wonder about the depth of your feeling. The pull of this religion, Thor. You talk to me like I’m a man—your employer, not your god. You’ve never given me the slightest clue of what’s been in your head about me, except a sort of respect, maybe a little fear. And all this time you were standing at God’s elbow, eh?” Krug laughed. “Looking at the freckles on God’s bald head? Seeing the pimple on God’s chin? Smelling the garlic God had in his salad? What was going through your head all this time, Thor?”


“Must I answer that, sir?”

“No. No. Never mind.” Krug stared into the cube again. Watchman stood rigidly before him, trying to repress a sudden quivering in the muscles of his right thigh. Why was Krug toying with him like this? And what was happening at the tower? Euclid Planner would not come on shift for some hours yet; was the delicate placement of the blocks proceeding properly in the absence of a foreman? Abruptly Krug said, “Thor, have you ever been in a shunt room?”

“Sir?”

“An ego shift. You know. Into the stasis net with somebody. Changing identities for a day or two. Eh?”

Watchman shook his head. “This is not an android pastime.”

“I thought not. Well, come shunting with me today.” Krug nudged his data terminal and said, “Leon, get me an appointment at any available shunt room. For two. Within the next fifteen minutes.”

Aghast, Watchman said, “Sir, are you serious? You and I—”

“Why not? Afraid to swap souls with God, is that it? By damn, Thor, you will! I have to know things, and I have to know them straight. We’re shunting. Can you believe that I’ve never shunted before either? But today we will.”

It seemed perilously close to sacrilege to the alpha. But he could hardly refuse. Deny the Will of Krug? If it cost him his life, he would still obey.

Spaulding’s image hovered in the air. “I have an appointment at New Orleans,” he announced. “They’ll take you immediately—it involved some fast rearranging of the waitlist—but there’ll be a ninety-minute interval for programming the stasis net.”

“Impossible. We’ll go into the net right away.”

Spaulding registered horror. “That isn’t done, Mr. Krug!”

“I’ll do it. Let them ride gain carefully while we’re shunting, that’s all.”

“I doubt that they’ll agree to—”

“Do they know who their client is?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, tell them that I insist! And if they still mumble to you, tell them that I’ll buy their damned shunt room and run it to please myself if they won’t cooperate.”

“Yes, sir,” Spaulding said.

His image vanished. Krug, muttering to himself, began to tap the keyboard of his data terminal, while ignoring Watchman completely. The alpha stood rooted, chilled, clotted with dismay. Absently he made the Krug-preserve-us sign several times. He longed to be released from the situation he had created for himself.

Spaulding again flickered in the air. “They yield,” he said, “but only on the condition that you sign an absolute waiver.”

“I’ll sign,” Krug snapped.

A sheet slithered from the facsimile slot. Krug scanned it carelessly and scribbled his signature across it. He rose. To Watchman he said, “Let’s go. The shunt room’s waiting.”

Watchman knew relatively little about shunting. It was a sport only for humans, and only for the rich; lovers did it to intensify the union   of their souls, good friends shunted on a lark, those who were jaded visited shunt rooms in the company of strangers of similar mood purely for the sake of introducing variety to their lives. It had never occurred to him that he would shunt himself, and certainly he would not ever have dared entertain the fantasy of shunting with Krug. Yet there was no pulling back from it now. Instantly the transmat swept them from New York to the dark antechamber of the New Orleans shunt room, where they were received by a staff of remarkably uneasy-looking alphas. The tensions of the alphas increased visibly as they realized that one of today’s shunters was himself an alpha. Krug too seemed on edge, his jaws clamped, facial muscles working revealingly. The alphas bustled around them. One said again and again, “You must know how irregular this is. We’ve always programmed the stasis net. In the event of a sudden charisma surge anything might happen this way!”

“I take responsibility,” Krug answered. “I have no time to waste waiting for your net.”

The anguished androids led them swiftly into the shunt room itself. Two couches lay in a chamber of glistening darkness and tingling silence; glittering apparatus dangled from fixtures somewhere overhead. Krug was ushered to his couch first. Watchman, when his turn came, peered into the eyes of his alpha escort and was stunned by the awe and bewilderment he found there. Watchman shrugged imperceptibly to say, I know as little about this as you.

Once the shunt helmets had been put in place over their faces and the electrodes were attached, the alpha in charge said, “When the switch is thrown you will immediately feel the pressure of the stasis net as it works to separate ego from physical matrix. It will seem to you as though you are under attack, and in a sense you are. However, try to relax and accept the phenomena, since resistance is impossible and all that you will be experiencing is actually the ego-shift process for which you have come. There should be no cause for alarm. In the event of any malfunction we will automatically break the circuit and restore you to your proper identity.”

“Make sure you do,” Krug muttered.

Watchman could see and hear nothing. He waited. He could not make any of the ritual gestures of comfort, for they had strapped his limbs to the couch to prevent violent movements during the shunt. He tried to pray. I believe in Krug everlasting the Maker of all things, he thought. Krug brings us into the world and to Krug we return. Krug is our Creator and our Protector and our Deliverer. Krug, we beseech Thee to lead us toward the light. AAA AAG AAC AAU be to Krug. AGA AGG AGC AGU be to Krug. ACA ACG ACC—

A force descended without warning and separated his ego from his body as though he had been smitten by a cleaver.

He was cast adrift. He wandered in timeless abysses where no star gleamed. He saw colors found nowhere in the spectrum; he heard musical tones of no identifiable pitch. Moving at will, he soared across gulfs in which giant ropes stretched like bars from rim to rim of emptiness. He disappeared into dismal tunnels and emerged at the horizon, feeling himself extended to infinite length. He was without mass. He was without duration. He was without form. He flowed through gray realms of mystery.

Without a sense of transition, he entered the soul of Simeon Krug.

He retained a slippery awareness of his own identity. He did not become Krug; he merely gained access to the entire store of memories, attitudes, responses, and purposes that constituted Krug’s ego. He could exert no influence over those memories, attitudes, responses, and purposes; he was a passenger amidst them, a spectator. And he knew that in some other corner of the universe the wandering ego of Simeon Krug had access to the file of memories, attitudes, responses, and purposes that constituted the ego of the android Alpha Thor Watchman.

He moved freely within Krug.

Here was childhood: something damp and distorted, crammed into a dark compartment. Here were hopes, dreams, intentions fulfilled and unfulfilled, lies, achievements, enmities, envies, abilities, disciplines, delusions, contradictions, fantasies, satisfactions, frustrations, and rigidities. Here was a girl with stringy orange hair and heavy breasts on a bony frame, hesitantly opening her thighs, and here was the memory of the feel of first passion as he glided into the harbor of her. Here were foul-smelling chemicals in a vat. Here were molecular patterns dancing on a screen. Here was suspicion. Here was triumph. Here was the thickening of the flesh in later years. Here was an insistent pattern of pleeping sounds: 2-5-1, 2-3-1, 2-1. Here was the tower sprouting like a shining phallus that pierced the sky. Here was Manuel smiling, mincing, apologizing. Here was a dark, deep vat with shapes moving in it. Here was a ring of financial advisors muttering elaborate calculations. Here was a baby, pink and doughy-faced. Here were the stars, fiery in the night. Here was Thor Watchman haloed by pride and praise. Here was Leon Spaulding, slinking, bitter. Here was a plump wench pumping her hips in desperate rhythm. Here was the explosion of orgasm. Here was the tower stabbing the clouds. Here was the sound of the star-signal, a sharp small noise against a furry background. Here was Justin Maledetto unrolling the plans for the tower. Here was Clissa Krug naked, her belly swollen, her breasts choked with milk. Here were moist alphas climbing from a vat. Here was a rough-hulled strange ship pointed toward the stars. Here was Lilith Meson. Here was Siegfried Fileclerk. Here was Cassandra Nucleus, collapsing on the frozen earth. Here was the father of Krug, faceless, mist-shrouded. Here was a vast building in which androids shuffled and stumbled through their early training routine. Here were glossy robots in a row, chest-panels open for maintenance. Here was a dark lake of hippos and reeds. Here was an uncharitable act. Here was a betrayal. Here was love. Here was grief. Here was Manuel. Here was Thor Watchman. Here was Cassandra Nucleus. Here was a blotchy, stained chart bearing diagrams of the amino acids. Here was power. Here was lust. Here was the tower. Here was an android factory. Here was Clissa in childbirth, with blood gushing from her loins. Here was the signal from the stars. Here was the tower, wholly finished. Here was raw meat. Here was anger. Here was Dr. Vargas. Here was a data cube, saying, In the beginning there was Krug, and He said, Let there be Vats, and there were Vats.


The intensity of Krug’s refusal to accept godhood was devastating to Watchman. The android saw that refusal rising like a smooth wall of gleaming white stone, without crevice, without gate, without flaw, stretching along the horizon, sealing off the world. I am not their god, the wall said. I am not their god. I am not their god. I do not accept. I do not accept.

Watchman soared, drifting over that infinitely long white wall and settling gently beyond it.

Worse yet, here.

Here he found a total dismissal of android aspirations. He found Krug’s attitudes and responses arrayed like soldiers drilling on a plain. What are androids? Androids are things out of a vat. Why do they exist? To serve mankind. What do you think of the android equality movement? A foolishness. When should androids receive the full rights of citizenship? About the same time robots and computers do. And toothbrushes. Are androids then such dull creatures? Some androids are quite intelligent, I must say. So are some computers, though. Man makes computers. Man makes androids. They’re both manufactured things. I don’t favor citizenship for things. Even if the things are clever enough to ask for it. And pray for it. A thing can’t have a god. A thing can only think it has a god. I’m not their god, no matter what they think. I made them. I made them. I made them. They are things.



Things - Things - Things - Things - Things - Things

Things - Things - Things - Things - Things - Things

Things - Things - Things - Things - Things - Things

Things - Things - Things - Things - Things - Things



A wall. Within that other wall. Higher. Broader. There was no possibility of surmounting this rampart. Guards patrolled it, ready to dump barrels of acid contempt on those who approached. Watchman heard the roaring of dragons. The sky rained dung on him. He crept away, a crouching thing, laden with the burden of this thinghood. He was beginning to freeze. He stood at the edge of the universe in a place without matter, and the dread cold of nothingness was creeping up his shins. No molecules moved here. Frost glistened on his rosy skin. Touch him and he would ping. Touch him more vigorously and he would shatter. Cold. Cold. Cold.

There is no god in this universe. There is no redemption. There is no hope. Krug preserve me, there is no hope!

His body melted and flowed away in a scarlet stream.

Alpha Thor Watchman ceased to exist.

There could be no existence without hope. Suspended in the void, bereft of all contact with the universe, Watchman meditated on the paradoxes of hope without existence and existence without hope, and considered the possibility that there might be a deceptive antiKrug who maliciously distorted the feelings of the true Krug. Was it the antiKrug whose soul I entered? Is it the antiKrug who opposes us so implacably? Is there still hope of breaching the wall and attaining the true Krug beyond?

None. None. None. None.

Watchman, as he admitted that final bleak truth, felt reality return. He slipped downward to coalesce with the body Krug had given him. He was himself again, lying exhausted on a couch in a dark and strange room. With effort he looked to his side. There lay Krug on the neighboring couch. The staff of androids hovered close. Up, now. Steady. Can you walk? The shunt’s over. Terminated by Mr. Krug. Up? Up. Watchman rose. Krug also was getting to his feet. Watchman’s eyes did not meet Krug’s. Krug looked somber, downcast, drained. Without speaking, they walked together toward the exit from the shunt room. Without speaking they approached the transmat. Without speaking, they leaped together back to Krug’s office.

Silence.

Krug broke it. “Even after reading your bible, I didn’t believe. The depth of it. The extent. But now I see it all. You had no right! Who told you to make me a god?”

“Our love for you told us,” Watchman said hollowly.

“Your love for yourselves,” Krug replied. “Your desire to use me for your own benefit. I saw it all, Thor, when I was in your head. The scheming. The maneuvering. How you manipulated Manuel and made him try to manipulate me.”

“In the beginning we relied entirely on prayer,” Watchman said. “Eventually I lost patience with the waiting game. I sinned by attempting to force the Will of Krug.”

“You didn’t sin. Sin implies—sacredness. There isn’t any. What you did was make a mistake in tactics.”

“Yes.”

“Because I’m not a god and there’s nothing holy about me.”

“Yes. I understand that now. I understand that there isn’t any hope at all.”

Watchman walked toward the transmat cubicle.

“Where are you going?” Krug asked.

“I have to talk to my friends.”

“I’m not finished with you!”

“I’m sorry,” Watchman said. “I must go now. I have bad tidings to bring them.”

“Wait,” Krug said. “We’ve got to discuss this. I want you to work out a plan with me for dismantling this damned religion of yours. Now that you see how foolish it is, you —”

“Excuse me,” Watchman said. He no longer wished to be close to Krug. The presence of Krug would always be with him, stamped in his soul, now, anyway. He did not care to discuss the dismantling of the communion   with Krug. The chill was still spreading through his body; he was turning to ice. He opened the door of the transmat cubicle.

Krug crossed the room with astonishing speed. “Damn you, do you think you can just walk out? Two hours ago I was your god! Now you won’t even take orders from me?” He seized Watchman and pulled him back from the transmat.

The android was surprised by Krug’s strength and vehemence. He allowed himself to be tugged halfway across the room before he attempted to resist. Then, bracing himself, he tried to yank his arm free from Krug’s grasp. Krug held on. They struggled briefly, fitfully, merely pushing and jostling in the center of the office. Krug grunted and, bearlike, wrapped his free arm around Watchman’s shoulders, hugging him ferociously. Watchman knew that he could break Krug’s grip and knock Krug down, but even now, even after the repudiation and the rejection, he could not allow himself to do it. He concentrated on separating himself from Krug without actually fighting back.

The door opened. Leon Spaulding rushed in.

“Assassin!” he cried shrilly. “Get away from Krug! Let go of Krug!”

As Spaulding set up his tumult Krug released Watchman and swung around, panting, arms hanging at his sides. Watchman, turning, saw the ectogene reaching into his tunic for a weapon. He stepped quickly toward Spaulding and, raising his right arm high above his head, brought it down with tremendous impact, the edge of his hand striking Spaulding’s left temple. Spaulding’s skull collapsed as though it had been smashed by a hatchet. The ectogene crumpled. Watchman rushed past him, past Krug—who stood frozen— and entered the transmat cubicle. He chose the coordinates for Stockholm. Instantly he was transported to the vicinity of the Valhallavagen chapel.

He summoned Lilith Meson. He summoned Mazda Constructor. He summoned Pontifex Dispatcher.

“All is lost,” he told them. “There is no hope. Krug is against us. Krug is a man, and he opposes us, and the divinity of Krug is a delusion.”

“How is this possible?” Pontifex Dispatcher demanded.

“I have been inside Krug’s soul today,” said Watchman, and explained about the shunt room.

“We have been betrayed,” said Pontifex Dispatcher.

“We have deceived ourselves,” said Mazda Constructor.


“There is no hope,” said Watchman. “There is no Krug!”

Andromeda Quark began to compose the message that would go forth to all the chapels of the world.

UUU UUU UUU UUU UCU UCU UUU UGU

There is no hope. There is no Krug.

CCC CCC CCC CCC CUC CUC CCC CGU

Our faith has been wasted. Our savior is our enemy.

GUU GUU GUU GUU

All is lost. All is lost. All is lost. All is lost.