Nimdokwasnomorecertain.Heknewtherewasthechance,buthewasgetting
thin.Itcouldn'tbeanyworsethere,thanhere.Colder,butthatdidn'tmattermuch.
Hot,cold,hail,lava,boilsorlocusts—itnevermattered:themachinemasturbated
andwehadtotakeitordie.
Ellendecidedus."I'vegottohavesomething,Ted.Maybethere'llbesome
Bartlettpearsorpeaches.Please,Ted,let'stryit."
Igaveineasily.Whatthehell.Matterednotatall.Ellenwasgrateful,though.
Shetookmetwiceoutofturn.Eventhathadceasedtomatter.Andshenevercame,
sowhybother?Butthemachinegiggledeverytimewedidit.Loud,upthere,back
there,allaroundus,hesnickered.Itsnickered.MostofthetimeIthoughtofAMas
it,withoutasoul;buttherestofthetimeIthoughtofitashim,inthemasculine...
thepaternal...thepatriarchal...forheisajealouspeople.Him.It.GodasDaddythe
Deranged.
WeleftonaThursday.Themachinealwayskeptusuptodateonthedate.The
passageoftimewasimportant;nottous,sureashell,buttohim...it...AM.
Thursday.Thanks.
NimdokandGorristercarriedEllenforawhile,theirhandslockedtotheirown
andeachother'swrists,aseat.BennyandIwalkedbeforeandafter,justtomake
surethat,ifanythinghappened,itwouldcatchoneofusandatleastEllenwouldbe
safe.Fatchance,safe.Didn'tmatter.
Itwasonlyahundredmilesorsototheicecaverns,andthesecondday,when
wewerelyingoutundertheblisteringsunthinghehadmaterialized,hesentdown
somemanna.Tastedlikeboiledboarurine.Weateit.
Onthethirddaywepassedthroughavalleyofobsolescence,filledwithrusting
carcassesofancientcomputerbanks.AMhadbeenasruthlesswithitsownlifeas
withours.Itwasamarkofhispersonality:itstroveforperfection.Whetheritwasa
matterofkillingoffunproductiveelementsinhisownworldfillingbulk,or
perfectingmethodsfortorturingus,AMwasasthoroughasthosewhohadinvented
him—nowlongsincegonetodust—couldeverhavehoped.
Therewaslightfilteringdownfromabove,andwerealizedwemustbeverynear
thesurface.Butwedidn'ttrytocrawluptosee.Therewasvirtuallynothingout
there;hadbeennothingthatcouldbeconsideredanythingforoverahundredyears.
Onlytheblastedskinofwhathadoncebeenthehomeofbillions.Nowtherewere
onlyfiveofus,downhereinside,alonewithAM.
IheardEllensayingfrantically,"No,Benny!Don't,comeon,Benny,don't
please!"
AndthenIrealizedIhadbeenhearingBennymurmuring,underhisbreath,for
severalminutes.Hewassaying,"I'mgonnagetout,I'mgonnagetout..."overand
over.Hismonkeylikefacewascrumbledupinanexpressionofbeatificdelightand
sadness,allatthesametime.TheradiationscarsAMhadgivenhimduringthe
"festival"weredrawndownintoamassofpinkwhitepuckerings,andhisfeatures
seemedtoworkindependentlyofoneanother.PerhapsBennywastheluckiestofthe
fiveofus:hehadgonestark,staringmadmanyyearsbefore.
ButeventhoughwecouldcallAManydamnedthingweliked,couldthinkthe
foulestthoughtsoffusedmemorybanksandcorrodedbaseplates,ofburntout
circuitsandshatteredcontrolbubbles,themachinewouldnottolerateourtryingto
escape.BennyleapedawayfrommeasImadeagrabforhim.Hescrambledupthe
faceofasmallermemorycube,tiltedonitssideandfilledwithrottedcomponents.