He straightened slightly. “History celebrates the successful explorers, not the failed ones. I’m the captain. I made the decision. It’s my fault. That’s how it will be recorded.”
“Maybe for risking a landing based on preliminary indications that were favorable,” she continued, “and for trying to rescue two survivors of a lost ship. It won’t impact the mission. Regardless of what happens to us, the Covenant will still continue on to Origae-6 and the colonists will settle there. Also, back on Earth, they’ll finally learn what happened to the Prometheus. There are descendants of that crew who will finally gain closure because we set down here.”
“If,” he reminded her, “we can re-establish contact with the ship.” His expression reflected his continuing inner torment—and his guilt.
Walter returned to join them. Daniels immediately noted the flute he held in one hand but did not remark on it. Time enough later for an explanation of how he had come by it. They both eyed the synthetic expectantly.
“I spent some time with David,” Walter told them. “We discussed a number of things.” Anticipating Daniels’ curiosity, he held up the small but beautifully fashioned instrument. “Music, among them. There’s a sort of intensity to him I don’t understand. One moment he is what I would call perfectly normal. The next, he wanders off onto one strange tangent after another. I think he expects me to connect all the links he keeps dropping, but I have yet to discern a pattern. Observing my uncertainty I believe he is disappointed, yet he remains friendly. I would not say confused. It is something else.”
Oram inquired point-blank. “Dangerous?”
“Disturbing.” Plainly mystified by the recent encounter, Walter made no attempt to hide his ambivalence. “He’s been alone and without scheduled maintenance for ten years. While he and I are self-sustaining, there are aspects to our existence that benefit from regular conservation. Abilities can wear out as well as parts. Neglect can lead to… aberrations. Uncertainties.”
His gaze shifted from Oram to Daniels.
“No one can predict what the ultimate consequences might be of zero contact with other intelligences, be they synthetic or human,” he said. “Because synthetics have not been around long enough for such an isolation trial to be carried out. I don’t know what happens when a synthetic loses his mind, if that is indeed a correct description of such a possibility. We might be finding out.”
There was silence while Oram and Daniels digested Walter’s report. It was then that the captain, showing that his thoughts were not entirely lost in anguish and regret, thought to look around.
“Where’d Rosenthal go?”
Daniels quickly scanned the chamber. “I don’t see her,” she replied. “Walter?”
“Nor I. She is not here.”
“I’ll find her.” Daniels started to head in the direction of the portal that led to the multiple storage alcoves. Oram put out a restraining hand.
“No, you stay here with Walter and wait for Lopé and Cole. I’ll go. I need to think.” He smiled. “And gather my stray flock.” She sat down. After checking to make sure his carbine was in working order, he started off in the direction of the corridor most likely taken by Rosenthal.
Walter sat beside Daniels, and she noticed anew his repaired arm. As they were designed to do, his internal systems had repaired themselves. The epidermal sheath had healed over quite nicely in the interval since the neomorph had torn his arm during the battle in the tall grass.
“I never thanked you,” she told him. “You could have been killed. You saved my life, intervening the way you did.”
“I’m here to serve.” His tone was perfectly neutral, if a bit more diffident than usual.
She chuckled softly to herself. “Considering some of the lines I’ve heard from guys, that’s not bad.”
Reaching out she touched his face, feeling the synthetic skin. Collagen-based, it was crafted to feel exactly like that of a human. There was indisputable affection in the gesture. Equipped as he was to instantaneously analyze human expressions, vocal tones, and gestures, the effect on Walter could almost have qualified as embarrassment. Designed to deal with almost any conceivable situation, he had no idea how to react to a moment of genuine intimacy.
He drew back silently.
Recognizing the effect her gesture had on him, she pulled her hand away. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to unsettle you.”
“I am not unsettled,” he replied. “Uncertain perhaps, but not unsettled. Sometimes a non-response is the most sensible one.” He smiled—that seemed innocuous enough, he thought. “You should get some sleep.”
She let out a short, sharp laugh. “Not likely. I’ll sleep when I’m back on the Covenant.”
They sat like that, conversing idly. They also listened for voices, or at least echoes. Hearing none and wondering what he should do, it occurred to Walter to try the flute. Remembering the extraordinary hand-mouth counterpoint of his exchange with David, he made an attempt to reproduce a few notes. They emerged softly from the instrument, but awkward and incomplete. His embarrassment was evident.
Surprised by the unexpected and previously unsuspected skill he demonstrated, Daniels looked on with interest. “Not bad.”
“No. That was terrible.” Walter eyed the instrument in disgust. “It was not even original.”
“It was not terrible,” she insisted, “and music doesn’t have to be original to be enjoyable. If that was the case, there’d be no such thing as recordings. Only improvisations.” She gestured at the flute. “Keep going.”
Still he demurred. “I cannot reproduce accurately what I wish to reproduce. It is not a fault of memory.” He struggled to explain what he meant. “It is a lack of something else.”
“Then try something of your own,” she urged him.
His voice was tight. “I was not programmed with the ability to create.”
“Maybe not,” she admitted, “but you were programmed with the ability to learn. You know the procedure. Trial and error. Retain what works, discard the rest. Experimentation leads to discovery. So—experiment. If it helps, pretend I’m not present. I’m not here to judge you.”
“I cannot pretend you are not here when you are sitting beside me.” He smiled anew. “That too would require creativity that I do not possess.”
She sighed. “Just try again. Don’t worry about my reaction.”
Given her encouragement, he complied. Hesitant initially, then with the first signs of increasing confidence. A few gentle notes sounded in the vast open chamber. They hung together. More than a little astonished at this small triumph, he made a second effort. This time the notes formed a recognizable melody. It was not like anything he had heard before, either in the course of the encounter with David, on the ship, or anywhere else. It was new.
It was his.
Thus emboldened, he continued. Though he would not have recognized it as such, the gentle tune formed a perfectly serviceable lullaby. Watching and listening, the exhausted Daniels seemed unaware when her eyes began to close. Her head slumped toward her chest, rose once, then fell again. A moment later she was sound asleep, sitting up.
Walter continued to play, his eyes fixed on her as his fingers waltzed over the holes in the flute. Continued to play, and experiment. The simple instrument was not powerful enough to fill the chamber with music, but he tried.
XVII
The line of precise hash marks inscribed in the corridor seemed endless. Her fingertips dancing along the wall, Rosenthal’s hand rose and fell, rose and fell as she traced the marks, letting them lead her onward. Lost in her own exploratory reverie, it did not occur to her that she had left the domed chamber a considerable distance behind.