Garol's new work was more that of a cataloguer than of a scientist-- but he was unable to perceive much difference between theory and practice of science, and saw no contradiction in it. He set up the programs for the Stipock Geologer, which would analyze planets from orbit and lay out incredibly detailed maps of metals, ores, and topography; the Stipock Ecologer, which analyzed the lifesystem of a planet in a single orbit; and the Stipock Climate Analyzer, which could predict weather for a year in advance with fair accuracy, and climatic trends for centuries with near perfect accuracy. It would take years to make the machines work well, but once Garol's groundwork was done, the details could be fleshed out by thousands of much less talented researchers.
It was not work that involved Garol's mind completely, and it seemed to those few who knew him at all well that he seemed determined to keep his mind as disengaged as possible. He asked the wife of a professor to explain sex to him; she did, and they kept practicing for a few weeks before he set out to experience as much of it as possible with as many different partners as possible.
"You don't seem to pay any attention when we make love," a fellow graduate student complained one night.
"Was it good?" he asked.
"Wonderful," she said. "But--"
"Then don't ask for more than that," he said. She soon stopped sleeping with him, however, which he told her was stupid. "What do you expect out of sex," he asked, "emotional involvement?"
"Yes," she answered. "Though how anyone could expect emotional involvement from you I'll never know."
If any of those observing him had had a religious background, they would have seen the pattern he was following. But how could any of them know that there was something unusual about Garol immersing himself briefly in thestudy of business and then systematically turning the millions he earned from royalties on his Low-Density Radiation Counter into billions by investing wisely but daringly in the marketplace.
He briefly played wargames, until he won enough that he got bored. He tried every liquor made and got drunk several times, until he decided that he didn't like it much and quit again. He watched lifeloops to an extent that brought ridicule from fellow students (they briefly nicknamed him Soapwatcher). He even tried homosexuality, though it wasn't fashionable then, and he soon gave it up.
If anyone had understood the meaning behind his behavior, had thought it was anything more than adolescent experimentation coupled with a brilliant mind, his continuing refusal to go on somec would have caused some alarm. His religion was still, to some degree, controlling him. He knew it; but the fear of somec was not easy to overcome, and so he played hard and worked hard and still had half his mind unused so it could worry constantly about his appointment with the Sleeproom.
"Your contract, Mr. Stipock, says you must enter the Sleeproom in four days. We thought it would be good to remind you so you'd be certain to have your affairs in order."
"Thank you," Garol said, and celebrated his nineteenth birthday by burning the copy of the Word that he had kept all these years. It set off a smoke alarm in his apartment because he was known to be a nonsmoker, and it took three hours to convince the firemen that not only were they not needed, but the damned sprinklers had ruined his furniture.
"Just step in here," said the young woman, "and take off your clothes."
Stipock followed her into a room in the Tape and Tap that was equipped with a soft chair and a wheeled bed and several hooks to hang his clothing. He stripped, and the woman told him to sit in the chair. But he was trembling; he couldn't hang his clothes up. They kept falling.
"First time?" asked the young woman.
He nodded.
"Nothing to be afraid of. The taping is painless, and somec puts you right to sleep like a pleasant dream."
He smiled. He couldn't tell her that despite his stunning record of achievement in science, the God of his childhood was still leaning over his shoulder, forbidding him to eat the fruit of the tree of life.
The young woman put a helmet on his head, and Stipock began to sweat. My mind is being drawn out of my head, he thought, at the same time criticizing himself for being so irrational. His hands were cold; he had to will his legs to relax, so they would stop trembling so visibly, almost violently.
"That's it," the woman said. "Braintape is ready to go."
Stipock's mouth was dry, and he stammered as he asked, "What if something goes wrong with the tape?"
"No chance," she said. "The first time, we make four tapes. The first one is already played back and analyzed to make sure all your brain patterns are present. Another one is sent to the permanent tape archive. Another one is stored here, near where you'll be sleeping-- that's the one we'll wake you with. And the fourth is kept by the government, in case you should commit a crime and have to be awakened with an earlier tape. So, you see, there are four completely separate places where your memory is being stored. Nothing can happen."
Stipock felt somewhat reassured. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Of course, you won't remember a word of this conversation when you wake up, since it isn't on your tape. So I'm leaving a note with your records to make sure this is all explained to you. The last thing you'll remember is worrying about it!" She said it with a charming smile, and Stipock gave her one of his rare smiles back.
"Lie on the table now, and the somec will be ready in a moment."
He lay on his back on the table and looked upward at the hidden lights and the aging acoustic tile. He remembered Amblick lying on his back twelve years ago, and suddenly he was afraid again. Not worry this time, though-- naked panic, and his legs stiffened and he wanted to urinate.
"I need to go to the bathroom," he said, and his voice shocked him by its calmness.
"No you don't," said the young woman. "Because in exactly three minutes all your bodily functions will be stopped, or nearly stopped, for several years, and when you wake up then you can go to the toilet." The needle slipped into his palm.
But it was not painless. The sleep came not with a pleasant dream, but with a nightmare. The fires of hell burned in his veins, and God's Voice throbbed in his head, crying, "Treason! Treason!" You have killed God, cried the voice in his head. You were the death of the Undying Voice. If only you had listened, you would have heard him call you! And now you take Souldestroyer into your body and negate your soul.
He screamed, and the young woman was afraid, because though she had seen countless others writhe and perspire and moan on the bed as the somec worked its hot destruction, she had never seen anyone lie so rigidly, have such an expression of terror, and scream as if life itself were being taken from him.
But soon he quieted, and soon he slept like a corpse, and she connected him to the lifesupport mechanism and wheeled him to where the attendants waited. They would put him in his coffin and slide him into his place on a shelf and leave him there until he was revived in seven years.
When he awoke, he remembered nothing of the agony of going to sleep. He remembered only that he had been afraid of somec, and he had come out of it perfectly all right.
In his mind he heaved an enormous sigh of relief. And then he settled down to doing the final work on his colony-support machines, making sure the programs did the work they were supposed to do. No more overcompensation for his early inhibitions about sex and fun and profit. His life steadied out. He became stable. He was prepared to let somec keep him alive forever.