Night Walk (6 page)
Authors: Bob Shaw
when
? And why
should a single encounter with Helen Juste have triggered the impulse? He
had no memories of any girl with red hair and unusual eyes who might
have been a proto-Helen.
As the computer program took shape they put the assembly robot to work on
two identical prototypes of what, for lack of inspiration, they named
eyesets. Supplementing the program, with its own vast store of instructions
built into it for microminiature electronics, the robot slowly assembled
two pairs of spectacles in the vacuum-locked privacy of its sterile belly.
They were conventional in appearance, except for the beads that were the
television cameras mounted on the bridge pieces. The rims served to direct
the microwaves back into the eyes.
The only problem Tallon and Winfield had to handle themselves -- through
Ed Hogarth's hands -- was that of keeping the beams focused accurately
on the optic nerve. They solved it by an adaption of Tallon's original plan
-- a single metal plug at the edge of each plastic iris. The theory was
that every eye movement would bring the metal plug to a new position in a
weak magnetic field generated inside the spectacle frame, thus providing
reference data for a single-crystal computer, which redirected the
beams accordingly.
By the time he had reached the final part of the program, which dealt with
the circuitry for the infinitely more subtle language of the glial cells,
Tallon was wholly committed to the intellectual adventure. He scarcely
touched his meals and was losing weight steadily.
The month-long reverie came to an end one afternoon as he lay in the
sound-cone of an auto-reader.
He recognized Winfield's approach by the quick, nervous tapping of the
cane, which the old man still used in conjunction with the sonar torch.
"I've got to speak to you right away, son. Sorry to interrupt, but it's
important." Winfield's voice was hoarse with urgency.
"It's all right, Doc. What's the trouble?" Tallon swung his legs from
the couch and rolled out of the sound area.
"The trouble is Cherkassky. The grapevine says he's out of the hospital."
"What of it? He can't touch me in here."
"That's the point, son. They say he still isn't fit for normal duty,
but he has arranged to join the Pavilion staff for a 'working convalescence.'
You know what that means, don't you? You know why he's coming here?"
Of their own accord, Tallon's hands rose to his face, and the finger
tips gently traced the curve of his unseeing, plastic eyes. "Yes, Doc,"
he said quietly. "Thanks for telling me. I know why he's coming here."
seven
Light -- fierce and steady.
Pain -- fierce and steady!
Tallon snatched off the eyeset and sat contracted in the chair,
waiting for the needling agony to subside. He knew his eyes would have
been streaming with tears had the glands not been ripped away by the
darts of Cherkassky's hornet gun. The pain took a long time to recede,
occasionally reaching its former level again, like a reluctant ebb tide.
"What's the matter, Sam -- no better?" Hogarth sounded cool and
disinterested, which meant he was alarmed.
Tallon shook his head. "We're not getting it. Something is seriously wrong
with the conversion stage. The signals the nerve expects and the signals
we're feeding into it just aren't compatible -- and they hurt so much
I can't even look for tuning responses."
"We took on a big job, son," Winfield said sadly. "Perhaps too big,
under the circumstances."
"That's not it. We were going well, right up to the last stage. The synthesis
of the glial code was the only really tough part, but it was coming all
right. I was
drinking
it, till I heard about our friend Cherkassky."
"It was only a rumor. The grapevine has been wrong before."
"Perhaps, but the effect's the same whether the rumor's true or false.
I can't hold the concept now. I just can't say for certain if we've built
in a basic error or merely have to chase out a few bugs. How about a
local anaesthetic to kill the pain while I examine what we're getting?"
"No good. You could crisp your optic nerves."
"Then what in hell do we do? We've already wasted two weeks trying to
synthesize something that every moronic beast that ever walked or flew or
swam can do without even trying. It isn't right that -- Christ!" Tallon
shouted with excitement as a new kind of light seared through his mind.
"Take it easy," Winfield warned uneasily. "You know the penalities for
blasphemy on this planet."
"I wasn't blaspheming. Doc, I know where we can pick up the whole
visual-electrical complex. The lot -- rod-and-cone, bipolars, ganglions,
glials -- the whole process absolutely ready-made. Ready for us to lift
off the rack and put it on."
"Where?"
"Right here in the workshop. Ed's eyes are all right, aren't they?"
Hogarth whinnied with alarm. "My eyes are fine, and I aim to keep them
that way, you damned Earthside ghoul. Leave my eyes out of it."
"We will, but your eyes won't leave us alone. They're bombarding us and
everything around you with exactly the information the doctor and I need.
Every kink in your optic nerves is spraying us with electrons. You're
a little radio station, Ed, and your tape jockey plays only one tune --
the glial code."
"My mother was right," Hogarth said reflectively. "She always knew I
would make good."
"You sound excited, Sam." Winfield's voice was sober. "Do you think
you're getting it this time?"
"This time I've got it."
Four days later, as dawn was beginning to overpaint the fainter stars,
Tallon saw Winfield for the first time.
He sat perfectly still for a moment, savoring the miracle of vision,
feeling humbled by the sudden stark revelation of the pinnacle of human
technology upon which his triumph was poised: the centuries of research
into the complex language of glial-cell transients; the development of
assembly robots and micro-Waldos; the growth of cybernetic philosophies
that enabled a man to incorporate a billion electronic circuits in
a single chip of crystal and use only those that served his purpose,
without his ever knowing which circuits they were.
"Tell us the worst, son."
"It's all right, Doc; it works. I can see you. The trouble is I can see
myself as well."
Tallon gave a sharp laugh and fought to adjust to the supremely unnatural
situation of having a body in one place and eyes in another. For the
first trial of the new eyeset, he and Winfield sat close together at
one end of the workshop while Hogarth remained at the other end with
strict instructions not to take his gaze off them. Tallon had not moved,
but his new eyes told him he was at the other side of the room, looking
at both Winfield and
himself
.
The doctor was remarkably like the mental picture Tallon had formed of
him -- a red-faced, silver-haired old giant. He held a cane in one hand,
and his head, to which was strapped the gray box of his sonar torch,
was in the upright, alert attitude of a blind man.
Tallon examined himself curiously. His face behind the eyeset frame
looked longer and more thoughtful than ever, and the loose brown Pavilion
overalls showed that he had lost about fifteen pounds since coming to
the prison. Otherwise he looked much as he always had, something Tallon
found surprising, considering how he felt. His attention came back to
Winfield, whose face was taut with concentration as he waited to hear
what Tallon would have to say.
"Relax, Doc. I told you -- it works perfectly. I'm just getting used to
seeing myself as others see me."
Winfield smiled; then Tallon gasped and grabbed the sides of his chair
for support as the workshop seemed to swing away from beneath his feet,
right itself, and go bounding past him.
"Hold it, Ed!" he shouted frantically. "Don't jump about like that.
Remember you've got me with you."
"I don't care," Hogarth said. "I'm going to shake your hand. I had my doubts
about you, Sam, but you're a bright boy in spite of your college education."
"Thanks, Ed." Tallon watched in fascination as his own image grew larger
and closer and Ed's busily working metal crutches flickered on the lower
edge of Tallon's field of vision. He held out his hand and noticed that
other Sam Tallon perform an identical movement. Finally he saw Hogarth's
thin hand come into view and grasp his. The touch of fingers, coming at
precisely the right moment indicated by the actions of the tableau of
strangers, was like an electric shock.
Tallon took the eyeset off with his free hand, plunging himself into
friendly darkness, and struggled not to be sick. For a moment the
disorientation had been complete.
"Your turn now," he said, holding the eyeset out to Winfield. "Pull them
off as soon as you get into trouble, and don't be too alarmed at how
you feel."
"Thanks, son. I'll feel just fine."
Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Tallon sat while the doctor tried out
the eyeset. The old man had been blind for eight years and was likely
to experience an even bigger shock than had Tallon. As far as quality of
vision was concerned, the eyeset worked perfectly, but perhaps he had
not given enough consideration to the implications of seeing only -- and
precisely -- what could be seen by the one whose nerve impulses he was
pirating. From a practical point of view, a poorer quality image picked
up by a receptor located right on the eyeset would be much better. On
the other hand, if he had something like a trained squirrel to sit on
his shoulder . . .
"For God's sake, Ed," Winfield boomed, "hold that bony little head of
yours in one place for a few seconds. You're making me seasick."
"What's going on here?" Hogarth sounded indignant. "Whose head is it,
anyway? Nobody thanks me for the use of my eyes; they only act as if
they've taken over my head."
"Don't worry, Ed," Tallon reassured him. "You can have it back when
we've finished with it."
Hogarth sniffed and lapsed into his customary semi-audible swearing.
Winfield again demonstrated his characteristic stubbornness by keeping
the eyeset on longer than Tallon had, and ordering Hogarth to go to the
windows and look in directions that he called out to him. Tallon listened
in awe as the old man gave noisy sighs of appreciation or furious commands
of "eyes right" or "eyes left," while Hogarth's swearing grew louder and
more violent. It all came to an end suddenly.
"The eyeset has stopped working," Winfield announced. "It's broken."
"It isn't," Hogarth said triumphantly. "I've got my hands over my eyes."
"You treacherous little weasel," Winfield said in a thunderstruck whisper,
then began to laugh. Tallon and Hogarth joined in, spilling the tension that
had been building up in them for weeks.
When they finally stopped laughing Tallon discovered he was both hungry
and exhausted. He got the eyeset back and watched as Hogarth put the other
prototype, still unmodified, onto the work platform of the assembly robot.
He saw the little man's hands flick out, as though from Tallon's own body,
and press the starter buttons. The robot's doors slid across, enclosing
the eyeset, and there was a hiss as the air was expelled from its interior.
For the sort of work it was going to do, even the molecules of the atmosphere
had to be excluded.
Tallon stood up and patted his stomach. "Isn't it about time for breakfast?"
Hogarth remained seated at the robot's control console. "It is, but I think
I'll stay on here till this gadget's finished. Some of the boys are getting
a bit sore about the way I've been keeping them out lately. I don't want them
coming in and upsetting things at this stage."
"I'll stay on too, son. That's my eyeset in there, and I don't mind waiting
a few hours to get my hands on it. If you're agreeable, I'll send word to
Miss Juste and let her know we can give her a demonstration this afternoon."
Tallon found the thought of actually seeing Helen Juste strangely alarming.
She had not been back at the center's workshop since the day she saw the
sonar torch in operation, and the inexplicable turmoil the meeting had
created within him was beginning to die down. He had no wish to churn
it up again, and yet . . .
"Sure. That's all right with me, Doc. Well, I'm going to catch up on
some of the food I've been missing out on. Sorry to bother you again,
Ed, but would you mind watching me till I get out through the door?"
Tallon decided to rely entirely on the eyeset. He left his sonar and cane
on the bench, then walked to the door. As he moved he concentrated on the
image of his own receding back, as seen by Hogarth, and was able to guide
his hand accurately to the door handle. He took a deep breath and opened
the door.
"You're on your own now, son," Winfield called after him.
Tallon was still able to pick up vision from Hogarth when he was on the
upper landing, but now it was a handicap. He slid the control on the
right-hand arm of the eyeset frame to "passive" and went down the stairs
in darkness. Once through the outer door he moved the control to "search
and hold," and selected maximum range. Men were moving toward the mess
hall in twos and threes, and almost immediately Tallon was looking through
the eyes of another prisoner.
The man must have been walking with his head down, for Tallon saw nothing
but feet striding across the white concrete. Keeping the control at
"search and hold," he flicked the first "reject" stud. He had included
six of these studs in the design so that the eyeset would temporarily
memorize up to six individual signal patterns and let him reselect any of
them at will. A seventh stud was provided to clear the little memory unit.
Tallon had more luck this time. He was looking through the eyes of a
tall man who was moving easily, with head erect, toward a low building --
presumably the mess hall -- at the edge of a large plaza. Other blocks of
two and three stories lined the square, and Tallon had no idea which of
them was the center's workshop. He put his arms up and waved, as though
to a friend, and saw himself -- a tiny figure standing at the entrance
of the second building to the right of the mess hall.
Tallon waited until his host had neared the workshop; then he walked
quickly out from the entrance toward him, narrowly missing a strolling
guard, and fell in about three paces in front. Once or twice through force
of habit, he tried to look back over his shoulder, but saw only his own
face, white and slightly desperate, turning briefly toward his host.
? And why
should a single encounter with Helen Juste have triggered the impulse? He
had no memories of any girl with red hair and unusual eyes who might
have been a proto-Helen.
As the computer program took shape they put the assembly robot to work on
two identical prototypes of what, for lack of inspiration, they named
eyesets. Supplementing the program, with its own vast store of instructions
built into it for microminiature electronics, the robot slowly assembled
two pairs of spectacles in the vacuum-locked privacy of its sterile belly.
They were conventional in appearance, except for the beads that were the
television cameras mounted on the bridge pieces. The rims served to direct
the microwaves back into the eyes.
The only problem Tallon and Winfield had to handle themselves -- through
Ed Hogarth's hands -- was that of keeping the beams focused accurately
on the optic nerve. They solved it by an adaption of Tallon's original plan
-- a single metal plug at the edge of each plastic iris. The theory was
that every eye movement would bring the metal plug to a new position in a
weak magnetic field generated inside the spectacle frame, thus providing
reference data for a single-crystal computer, which redirected the
beams accordingly.
By the time he had reached the final part of the program, which dealt with
the circuitry for the infinitely more subtle language of the glial cells,
Tallon was wholly committed to the intellectual adventure. He scarcely
touched his meals and was losing weight steadily.
The month-long reverie came to an end one afternoon as he lay in the
sound-cone of an auto-reader.
He recognized Winfield's approach by the quick, nervous tapping of the
cane, which the old man still used in conjunction with the sonar torch.
"I've got to speak to you right away, son. Sorry to interrupt, but it's
important." Winfield's voice was hoarse with urgency.
"It's all right, Doc. What's the trouble?" Tallon swung his legs from
the couch and rolled out of the sound area.
"The trouble is Cherkassky. The grapevine says he's out of the hospital."
"What of it? He can't touch me in here."
"That's the point, son. They say he still isn't fit for normal duty,
but he has arranged to join the Pavilion staff for a 'working convalescence.'
You know what that means, don't you? You know why he's coming here?"
Of their own accord, Tallon's hands rose to his face, and the finger
tips gently traced the curve of his unseeing, plastic eyes. "Yes, Doc,"
he said quietly. "Thanks for telling me. I know why he's coming here."
seven
Light -- fierce and steady.
Pain -- fierce and steady!
Tallon snatched off the eyeset and sat contracted in the chair,
waiting for the needling agony to subside. He knew his eyes would have
been streaming with tears had the glands not been ripped away by the
darts of Cherkassky's hornet gun. The pain took a long time to recede,
occasionally reaching its former level again, like a reluctant ebb tide.
"What's the matter, Sam -- no better?" Hogarth sounded cool and
disinterested, which meant he was alarmed.
Tallon shook his head. "We're not getting it. Something is seriously wrong
with the conversion stage. The signals the nerve expects and the signals
we're feeding into it just aren't compatible -- and they hurt so much
I can't even look for tuning responses."
"We took on a big job, son," Winfield said sadly. "Perhaps too big,
under the circumstances."
"That's not it. We were going well, right up to the last stage. The synthesis
of the glial code was the only really tough part, but it was coming all
right. I was
drinking
it, till I heard about our friend Cherkassky."
"It was only a rumor. The grapevine has been wrong before."
"Perhaps, but the effect's the same whether the rumor's true or false.
I can't hold the concept now. I just can't say for certain if we've built
in a basic error or merely have to chase out a few bugs. How about a
local anaesthetic to kill the pain while I examine what we're getting?"
"No good. You could crisp your optic nerves."
"Then what in hell do we do? We've already wasted two weeks trying to
synthesize something that every moronic beast that ever walked or flew or
swam can do without even trying. It isn't right that -- Christ!" Tallon
shouted with excitement as a new kind of light seared through his mind.
"Take it easy," Winfield warned uneasily. "You know the penalities for
blasphemy on this planet."
"I wasn't blaspheming. Doc, I know where we can pick up the whole
visual-electrical complex. The lot -- rod-and-cone, bipolars, ganglions,
glials -- the whole process absolutely ready-made. Ready for us to lift
off the rack and put it on."
"Where?"
"Right here in the workshop. Ed's eyes are all right, aren't they?"
Hogarth whinnied with alarm. "My eyes are fine, and I aim to keep them
that way, you damned Earthside ghoul. Leave my eyes out of it."
"We will, but your eyes won't leave us alone. They're bombarding us and
everything around you with exactly the information the doctor and I need.
Every kink in your optic nerves is spraying us with electrons. You're
a little radio station, Ed, and your tape jockey plays only one tune --
the glial code."
"My mother was right," Hogarth said reflectively. "She always knew I
would make good."
"You sound excited, Sam." Winfield's voice was sober. "Do you think
you're getting it this time?"
"This time I've got it."
Four days later, as dawn was beginning to overpaint the fainter stars,
Tallon saw Winfield for the first time.
He sat perfectly still for a moment, savoring the miracle of vision,
feeling humbled by the sudden stark revelation of the pinnacle of human
technology upon which his triumph was poised: the centuries of research
into the complex language of glial-cell transients; the development of
assembly robots and micro-Waldos; the growth of cybernetic philosophies
that enabled a man to incorporate a billion electronic circuits in
a single chip of crystal and use only those that served his purpose,
without his ever knowing which circuits they were.
"Tell us the worst, son."
"It's all right, Doc; it works. I can see you. The trouble is I can see
myself as well."
Tallon gave a sharp laugh and fought to adjust to the supremely unnatural
situation of having a body in one place and eyes in another. For the
first trial of the new eyeset, he and Winfield sat close together at
one end of the workshop while Hogarth remained at the other end with
strict instructions not to take his gaze off them. Tallon had not moved,
but his new eyes told him he was at the other side of the room, looking
at both Winfield and
himself
.
The doctor was remarkably like the mental picture Tallon had formed of
him -- a red-faced, silver-haired old giant. He held a cane in one hand,
and his head, to which was strapped the gray box of his sonar torch,
was in the upright, alert attitude of a blind man.
Tallon examined himself curiously. His face behind the eyeset frame
looked longer and more thoughtful than ever, and the loose brown Pavilion
overalls showed that he had lost about fifteen pounds since coming to
the prison. Otherwise he looked much as he always had, something Tallon
found surprising, considering how he felt. His attention came back to
Winfield, whose face was taut with concentration as he waited to hear
what Tallon would have to say.
"Relax, Doc. I told you -- it works perfectly. I'm just getting used to
seeing myself as others see me."
Winfield smiled; then Tallon gasped and grabbed the sides of his chair
for support as the workshop seemed to swing away from beneath his feet,
right itself, and go bounding past him.
"Hold it, Ed!" he shouted frantically. "Don't jump about like that.
Remember you've got me with you."
"I don't care," Hogarth said. "I'm going to shake your hand. I had my doubts
about you, Sam, but you're a bright boy in spite of your college education."
"Thanks, Ed." Tallon watched in fascination as his own image grew larger
and closer and Ed's busily working metal crutches flickered on the lower
edge of Tallon's field of vision. He held out his hand and noticed that
other Sam Tallon perform an identical movement. Finally he saw Hogarth's
thin hand come into view and grasp his. The touch of fingers, coming at
precisely the right moment indicated by the actions of the tableau of
strangers, was like an electric shock.
Tallon took the eyeset off with his free hand, plunging himself into
friendly darkness, and struggled not to be sick. For a moment the
disorientation had been complete.
"Your turn now," he said, holding the eyeset out to Winfield. "Pull them
off as soon as you get into trouble, and don't be too alarmed at how
you feel."
"Thanks, son. I'll feel just fine."
Feeling slightly uncomfortable, Tallon sat while the doctor tried out
the eyeset. The old man had been blind for eight years and was likely
to experience an even bigger shock than had Tallon. As far as quality of
vision was concerned, the eyeset worked perfectly, but perhaps he had
not given enough consideration to the implications of seeing only -- and
precisely -- what could be seen by the one whose nerve impulses he was
pirating. From a practical point of view, a poorer quality image picked
up by a receptor located right on the eyeset would be much better. On
the other hand, if he had something like a trained squirrel to sit on
his shoulder . . .
"For God's sake, Ed," Winfield boomed, "hold that bony little head of
yours in one place for a few seconds. You're making me seasick."
"What's going on here?" Hogarth sounded indignant. "Whose head is it,
anyway? Nobody thanks me for the use of my eyes; they only act as if
they've taken over my head."
"Don't worry, Ed," Tallon reassured him. "You can have it back when
we've finished with it."
Hogarth sniffed and lapsed into his customary semi-audible swearing.
Winfield again demonstrated his characteristic stubbornness by keeping
the eyeset on longer than Tallon had, and ordering Hogarth to go to the
windows and look in directions that he called out to him. Tallon listened
in awe as the old man gave noisy sighs of appreciation or furious commands
of "eyes right" or "eyes left," while Hogarth's swearing grew louder and
more violent. It all came to an end suddenly.
"The eyeset has stopped working," Winfield announced. "It's broken."
"It isn't," Hogarth said triumphantly. "I've got my hands over my eyes."
"You treacherous little weasel," Winfield said in a thunderstruck whisper,
then began to laugh. Tallon and Hogarth joined in, spilling the tension that
had been building up in them for weeks.
When they finally stopped laughing Tallon discovered he was both hungry
and exhausted. He got the eyeset back and watched as Hogarth put the other
prototype, still unmodified, onto the work platform of the assembly robot.
He saw the little man's hands flick out, as though from Tallon's own body,
and press the starter buttons. The robot's doors slid across, enclosing
the eyeset, and there was a hiss as the air was expelled from its interior.
For the sort of work it was going to do, even the molecules of the atmosphere
had to be excluded.
Tallon stood up and patted his stomach. "Isn't it about time for breakfast?"
Hogarth remained seated at the robot's control console. "It is, but I think
I'll stay on here till this gadget's finished. Some of the boys are getting
a bit sore about the way I've been keeping them out lately. I don't want them
coming in and upsetting things at this stage."
"I'll stay on too, son. That's my eyeset in there, and I don't mind waiting
a few hours to get my hands on it. If you're agreeable, I'll send word to
Miss Juste and let her know we can give her a demonstration this afternoon."
Tallon found the thought of actually seeing Helen Juste strangely alarming.
She had not been back at the center's workshop since the day she saw the
sonar torch in operation, and the inexplicable turmoil the meeting had
created within him was beginning to die down. He had no wish to churn
it up again, and yet . . .
"Sure. That's all right with me, Doc. Well, I'm going to catch up on
some of the food I've been missing out on. Sorry to bother you again,
Ed, but would you mind watching me till I get out through the door?"
Tallon decided to rely entirely on the eyeset. He left his sonar and cane
on the bench, then walked to the door. As he moved he concentrated on the
image of his own receding back, as seen by Hogarth, and was able to guide
his hand accurately to the door handle. He took a deep breath and opened
the door.
"You're on your own now, son," Winfield called after him.
Tallon was still able to pick up vision from Hogarth when he was on the
upper landing, but now it was a handicap. He slid the control on the
right-hand arm of the eyeset frame to "passive" and went down the stairs
in darkness. Once through the outer door he moved the control to "search
and hold," and selected maximum range. Men were moving toward the mess
hall in twos and threes, and almost immediately Tallon was looking through
the eyes of another prisoner.
The man must have been walking with his head down, for Tallon saw nothing
but feet striding across the white concrete. Keeping the control at
"search and hold," he flicked the first "reject" stud. He had included
six of these studs in the design so that the eyeset would temporarily
memorize up to six individual signal patterns and let him reselect any of
them at will. A seventh stud was provided to clear the little memory unit.
Tallon had more luck this time. He was looking through the eyes of a
tall man who was moving easily, with head erect, toward a low building --
presumably the mess hall -- at the edge of a large plaza. Other blocks of
two and three stories lined the square, and Tallon had no idea which of
them was the center's workshop. He put his arms up and waved, as though
to a friend, and saw himself -- a tiny figure standing at the entrance
of the second building to the right of the mess hall.
Tallon waited until his host had neared the workshop; then he walked
quickly out from the entrance toward him, narrowly missing a strolling
guard, and fell in about three paces in front. Once or twice through force
of habit, he tried to look back over his shoulder, but saw only his own
face, white and slightly desperate, turning briefly toward his host.
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