“You may be sure of that, Magnus,” Fess answered. “Farewell.”
Then he was gone, and Magnus was staring at the screen, not at all sure he liked that last remark. “Herkimer—what did he mean?”
“There was insufficient information in his last remark, Magnus; I would have to conjecture almost blindly.”
But Magnus was developing a nasty conjecture of his own. “Why were the two of you connected by cable, just before I came aboard?”
“Why, for a data transfer, Magnus.”
“Indeed.” Magnus braced himself. “What data was transferred?”
“The entire contents of his memory, Magnus, except for personal matters that his previous owners wished kept confidential.”
Magnus’s heart sank. “You now know all that Fess knew?”
“Everything, Magnus, with the exceptions noted previously.”
“Including my entire biography.”
“As much of it as Fess knew, yes.”
Fess had been right—he would always be with Magnus. “Well, it is good to have reminders of home,” Magnus sighed. “But, Herkimer?”
“Yes, Magnus?”
“You do understand that it is not necessary to tell everything you know?”
“Of course, Magnus. Any personal information of yours shall not be disclosed to anyone but you.”
“That, of course,” Magnus said, “but I was more concerned with family history. You understand that there is no reason to seek to impress me with the importance of the d’Armands, or the obligations of my rank?”
“Why ever should I wish to do that?” Herkimer said, in tones of mystification.
“I can’t think of a single reason—but Fess could, and did.” Magnus breathed a sigh of relief.
Then he breathed another, realizing that he was finally, really away from that cloying and clinging excuse for a Maximan family. It came to him that he had narrowly escaped the exact mesh of entangling relationships his cousin Roger had feared. Magnus found himself wondering if perhaps he had not betrayed the man, then wondered if he had not himself shirked his responsibilities. “I know that I must be my brother’s keeper,” he muttered, “but must I also watch over my cousins?”
“They are not your burden, Magnus,” Herkimer replied.
Magnus looked up, startled, then realized that he had phrased it as a question. He was oddly reassured by the machine’s response. It might be logical, but it lacked humane considerations, and was therefore not necessarily ethical—but it was still reassuring.
Which brought another matter to mind. “Herkimer—if you have all Fess’s data, you are aware of my … talents?”
“Your psionic abilities?” Herkimer asked. “Yes, Magnus, I am—and I know those of your brothers and sister, and your mother and father, as well.”
“And my grandfather, no doubt, and all of the rest of the knowledge of Gramarye.” Magnus relaxed another stage; he could talk freely about home, if he wanted to. “Then you will understand that I have been raised with certain ethical standards in regard to the use of those abilities.”
“I am so aware, yes.”
“And you are aware that I used them to influence my cousin Roger?”
“That was included in Fess’s briefing.”
“And that such use violated my ethical code?” The robot was silent for a half-second, then said, “I cannot truly discriminate, Magnus. There were extenuating circumstances.”
But Magnus knew, and knew well. To get himself out of a bind with his relatives, he had violated a major ethical principle: he had altered the memories and emotions of a human being who was not an enemy, and without that person’s permission. In retrospect, he thought he might perhaps have committed the equally unethical, but lesser, offense, of just walking out on his relatives with words of rebuke.
Though truly, he could see no third choice. There might have been one, and he could have stayed till he had found it—but that would have taken months, perhaps years, and by the time he’d been able to see it, he would have become too deeply enmeshed in the family’s troubles to be able to free himself.
But that still did not excuse the violation he had committed. He had allowed his integrity to be breached, and his corruption had begun.
He wondered how much further it would go before he would be able to halt it.
Especially since he found that he had no wish to. Now that he was clear of Maxima, he could let his guard down, let himself go, let himself feel the hurt and the pain—and the anger at Pelisse and her grandmother surged white-hot through him. How dare they toy with him, how dare they seek to use him so, to exploit him! Hadn’t they realized that they would degrade him thereby? And themselves?
The whole matter left a very bad taste in his mouth, and great bitterness in his heart. He felt a sudden craving to wash out the one and assuage the other. “Herkimer! Set course for Ceres City!”
“As you wish, Magnus,” the computer replied—then, almost in an echo of Fess, “Are you sure?”
“Quite sure,” Magnus snapped. Ceres City—which, Fess had taught him, was a sink of iniquity, to be well avoided by any young man not wishing to be dragged down into degradation. His father had been much more succinct. “Ceres City is Sin City,” he had said. “If you ever get to the Solar System, stay away from it, unless you really want to be tempted.”
Magnus was in a mood to give in to any temptation that came to hand. If he was going to be corrupted, he wanted to get it over and done with.
“Seal the hatch when I’ve stepped through it,” Magnus told Herkimer, “and don’t open it for anyone but me.”
“Confirmed,” Herkimer answered. Then some data from Fess’s memory banks must have nudged him, because he said, “I hope you won’t do anything rash, Magnus.”
“Never fear,” Magnus assured him. “Everything I do will be well thought out.” And he stepped through the hatch, intent on a very well-considered and thoroughly planned drunk.
He paced through the boarding tunnel and out into the concourse. He looked about him, dazed by the dazzle and glitter of advertising messages and direction signs. A circle of gambling machines filled the rotunda, and asteroid miners and merchant crews and passengers came pounding off their ships to start feeding credit cards into the slots of the mechanical bandits. A 30-degree arc of the rotunda wall was taken up by a mammoth bar, and young and shapely men and women strolled around the edges of the crowd in tight-fitting body suits of dark colors. As Magnus watched, one young woman’s suit suddenly turned transparent around her right breast. She glanced down at it, then up toward a man who was staring at her. The body suit turned opaque again, but another circle turned transparent, highlighting a different portion of her anatomy. Smiling, she strolled toward her prospective customer, hips rolling. Magnus glanced about and saw that the others who were similarly clad were developing transparent circles that came and went in response to the stares of the passers-by. If it was like this in the spaceport area, what would it be like in the corridors of the city proper?
Magnus felt his hormones stir at the display of dancing circles, and turned away just in time to avoid a young woman who was homing in on him. Feeling slightly sick, he stepped over to the bar, ordered a shot of straight grain whiskey, paid for it with one of the coins his cousins had given him, drank it straight down, and turned to follow the signs that promised a way out.