If he could have put himself at the point of view of the family and have heard that Kitty would be unhappy if he did not marry her, he would have been greatly astonished, and would not have believed it. He could not believe that what gave such great and delicate pleasure to him, and above all to her, could be wrong. Still less could he have believed that he ought to marry.
Marriage had never presented itself to him as a possibility. He not only disliked family life, but the very idea of starting a family was, in accordance with the general views in the bachelor world in which he lived, as alien and ridiculous as the so-called Honored Guests so fervently awaited by Countess Nordstron and her set.
Lupo finished the Memory and, before cuing the next one, chased a I/Mouse/9 across the floor. The beasts had recently become decommed, and Vronsky had begged a box of them from his friend Stepan Arkadyich, in the Ministry, as a source of amusement and exercise for Lupo. The fierce animal machine, having caught the unfortunate little Class I in his jaws and efficiently cracked its groznium spine, rolled again onto his back to reveal his monitor and the next Memory.
Vronsky felt on coming away from the Shcherbatskys’ that the secret spiritual bond which existed between him and Kitty had grown so much stronger that evening that some step must be taken. But what step could and ought to be taken, he could not imagine.
“What is so exquisite,” he mused to Lupo, “is that not a word has been said by me or by her, but we understand each other so well in this unseen language of looks and tones, that this evening more clearly than ever she told me she loves me. And how secretly, simply, and most of all, how trustfully! I feel myself better, purer, like I have exited Earth’s atmosphere, and am moon-bound. I feel that I have a heart, and that there is a great deal of good in me. Those sweet, loving eyes! When she said: ‘Indeed I do…’”
He trailed off, whereupon Lupo tilted his head and barked inquiringly.
“Well, what then? Oh, nothing. It’s good for me, and good for her.” And he began wondering where to finish the evening.
He passed in review the places he might go to. “The Blasting Club? A game of Flickerfly champagne with Ignatov? No, I’m not going. Château des Fleurs; there I shall find Oblonsky, songs, the cancan. No, I’m sick of it. That’s why I like the Shcherbatskys’, because I’m growing… better.” Instead of going out, he ordered supper, and then undressed, and as soon as his head touched the pillow and he felt the reassuring weight of Lupo’s warm, gently thrumming metal snout curled against his chest, he fell into a sound sleep.
CHAPTER 14
NEXT DAY AT ELEVEN o’clock in the morning Vronsky drove to the station of the Petersburg-Moscow Grav to meet his mother, and the first person he came across on the great flight of steps was Oblonsky, who was expecting his sister by the same train.
“Ah! Your Excellency!” cried Oblonsky. “Whom are you meeting?”
“My mother,” Vronsky responded, smiling, as everyone did who met Oblonsky and his funny little Class III. “She is to be here from Petersburg today.” Vronsky shook hands with Stiva, patted Small Stiva amiably on his hemispheric head-dome, and together they all ascended, Lupo prowling along at the rear, nose down, examining the steps with his keen scent sensors as they went.
“I was looking out for you till two o’clock last night. Where did you go after the Shcherbatskys’?”
“Home,” answered Vronsky. “I must own I felt so content yesterday after the Shcherbatskys’ that I didn’t care to go anywhere.”
“I know a gallant steed by tokens sure,
And by his eyes I know a youth in love,”
declaimed Stepan Arkadyich, just as he had done before to Levin.
Vronsky smiled with a look that seemed to say that he did not deny it, but he promptly changed the subject.
“Look there: Our tireless protectors are out in force today. I hope there are not koschei along the lines. Mother so hates to be discomfited.”
Even as he spoke, the distinct heavy thud of the 77s in their metal boots echoed through the station. Dozens of the elite bots, bulbed heads performing their endless all-seeing rotations, roamed through all corners of the vast terminus, magnifying sensors clipped to their end-effectors, searching for the monstrous little bugs known and feared as koschei
“And whom are you meeting?” Vronsky asked of Oblonsky.
“I? I’ve come to meet a pretty woman,” said Oblonsky, and maintained a sly, elusive expression, even as he raised his arms in the air to allow a 77 swiftly to scan his entire body. Even members of the nobility, when traveling by rail, had to submit to this relative indignity, and Oblonsky took it, like most all inconveniences, with ease and good humor.
“A pretty woman?” Vronsky replied meanwhile. “You don’t say so!”
“Honi soit qui mal y pense! My sister Anna.”
“Ah! That’s Madame Karenina,” said Vronsky. The 77 leveled his physiometer at Count Vronsky, who, with an officious scowl, whistled to the accompanying Caretaker and directed the man’s attention to a small pin he wore on his lapel, identifying him as an officer of the Border Regiments.
“If you need assistance, I am here,” he with quiet arrogance to the gold-uniformed soldier, who, mollified, gestured curtly to the 77 and departed.
“You know my sister Anna, no doubt?” Stepan Arkadyich was saying as together they approached the platform.
“I think I do. Or perhaps not… I really am not sure,” Vronsky answered heedlessly, with a vague recollection of something stiff and tedious evoked by the name Karenina.
“But Alexei Alexandrovich, my celebrated brother-in-law, you surely must know. All the world knows him. He is in the Higher Branches.”
“Ah, yes,” said Vronsky. “And… he is, enhanced, yes?”
Oblonsky nodded with mock gravity. “Oh, that he most certainly is.”
“I know him by reputation and by sight,” Vronsky continued. “I know that he’s clever, learned, religious somewhat… But you know that’s not… not in my line” said Vronsky in English.
“Yes, he’s a very remarkable man; rather a conservative, but a splendid man,” observed Stepan Arkadyich, “a splendid man.”
A chorus of shrill beeps erupted from the center of the station, as a dozen of the bioscanners rang out as one. The 77s and their Caretaker converged around a fat peasant with a battered rucksack, who stood wide-eyed and trembling as one of the massive machine-men snaked a winding, pincer-tipped cord from a slot on his lower-mid-torso and plucked a tiny koschei from the pocket of his vest.
“They’ve got one,” said Vronsky with evident enjoyment. He and Oblonsky watched as the 77 held the wriggling, roach-like koschei aloft. The fat peasant recoiled in horror from the twitching little bug-machine, its armor-plated back lined with quivering antennae, that had been playing stowaway in his shirtfront, while the fearsome 77 held the tiny thing carefully by the tip of its tail, carried it to a rubbish bin, and flicked it inside. While Vronsky and Oblonsky watched approvingly, a second 77 tossed a miniature I-bomb in after it, and slammed down the lid.
With one motion, everyone in the station covered their ears, and Small Stiva and Lupo dampened their auditory sensors. A moment later came the deafening explosion, followed by silence, as the station filled with heavy, acrid smoke. A child burst into tears and was comforted by the heavy mechanical arms of a II/Governess/646.