Derec hadn't heard the three play since that first audition. The first thing he noticed about this performance was their added confidence in themselves, the almost mathematical precision of the solo trade-offs, and the utter smoothness with which they assailed the tune. He looked down at his foot. It had been tapping.
He glanced at Ariel. He had expected her to be bored; her contempt for all things Terran was, after all, the result of several generations' worth of cultural history. But instead of appearing bored, she looked directly at the three with rapt attention. Her foot was tapping, too.
“Now, thiss iss Hamlet!" said Wolruf.
Chapter 7. The Memory Of Dawn
In two hours the performance would begin. Derec sat in his room, trying not to think about it. He was trying, in fact, not to think about much of anything. For though he had memorized practically the entire play, and felt as if he could perform his blocking blindfolded, he was afraid that if he ran through it in his mind now, at this late date, it would fall out of his memory as surely as his identity had.
After all, he had no idea what the cause of his amnesia was. It might have been caused by a severe blow to the head or a serious case of oxygen deprivation, but he could have some kind of disease as well-a disease that had caused him to lose his memory several times, forcing him to start over his search for his identity again and again. A disease that could strike again at any moment. Such as three minutes before the production was to begin.
Derec shrugged and lay down on his bed. Well, in such an eventuality, at least he would be spared the humiliation of embarrassment, he decided. He wouldn't remember anything or anybody.
The most terrible part of his fantasy-which he admitted was a little paranoid, but perhaps wasn't totally unwarranted under the circumstances-was that in the past he could have lost, time and time again, the companionship of intelligent beings who'd meant just as much to him as Ariel and Wolruf and Mandelbrot did now.
Maybe I should start thinking about the play,he thought. It might be safer.
The most important thing for him to remember was the secret purpose of the production, to watch Canute's reactions during the little surprises that Derec had cooked up for the robot.
For as Hamlet hoped to force Claudius to reveal his guilt while watching the play-within-the-play, Derec hoped Canute would at last be forced to confront its own true nature.
This was a nature Canute had steadfastly avoided confronting during rehearsals. When praised for its work in designing the theatre, Canute had admitted only that it was following orders, that it had given nothing of itself that was not logical. When it performed a scene particularly well during rehearsal, Canute had admitted only to following orders explicitly, to performing mechanically, as only a robot could.
But with luck, Canute had by now a case of robotic overconfidence. Derec's plans hinged on the hope that Canute believed it had already weathered the worse part of the investigation.
Of course, there was always the possibility that the surprises wouldn't work. What if they didn't? Then what would Derec have to do?
Derec realized he was wound up pretty tight. He relaxed with an effort. Then, when his thoughts began to turn automatically to the same matters, he tensed up again and had to relax with a second effort. Was this some form of stage fright? If it was, he supposed it could have been worse. He could be performing before humans.
There was a knock at the door. "Come in," he said, crossing his feet and putting his hands behind his head, so that whoever it was would think he was facing the coming performance with a mood of utter calm.
"Jumping galaxies! You look terrible!" said Ariel breathlessly as she closed the door behind her. "You must be nervous. It's good to know I'm not the only one."
Derec sat straight up and planted his feet on the floor. Just by being there, she had taken his breath away. She was in her costume-a blonde wig and a white gown that clung to her body as if it had been spun from a spider's web. Her makeup heightened the color of her cheeks and lips, and made her skin appear a healthier shade of pale. He hadn't realized that she could look so beautiful, with such an inner aliveness.
Of course, when he thought of all the circumstances that they had faced together-being thrown into a hospital together, running away from something, being stranded somewhere-it stood to reason that she had never before had the opportunity to accentuate her natural femininity. Her beauty in the costume was familiar, yet it was also something new, as if he'd glimpsed it in a long-forgotten dream.
But if she noticed his reaction (that is, if he revealed any of it), she gave no indication as she sat on the bed beside him. However, she glared at him because of his second reaction. It must have been none too flattering, for she looked like he had hit her over the head with a rubber chicken. "What's the matter with you?" she asked.
"What's that smell?" he replied.
"Oh, I had Mandelbrot synthesize some perfume for me. I thought it might help keep me in character."
"It's very pleasant. "
"That's not what your face said at first."
"That's because I wasn't sure what I was smelling.”
“Hmm. That's not much of a compliment. It's supposed to smell good whether or not you know what it is. "
"Please, I've forgotten my social training along with the rest of my memory."
"Your face said it smelled like fertilizer."
"I'm not even sure I know what fertilizer smells like."
She pursed her lips and looked away from him, but he couldn't help noticing that her hand was very close to his on the bed. Their fingers were almost touching. "Nervous?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Naw. For all I know, this could be my first encounter with perfume."
"I meant the play, silly."
"Oh. Well, maybe a little. Hey, for all I know, I could be an old hand at this."
"I see. Do you think amnesia could sometimes be a blessing in disguise?"
"Ariel, something's bothering you. Are you well?”
“Reasonably well. Doing this play has given me something relatively constructive to concentrate on, though I'm still not sure it was a good idea for me to play someone who goes mad. I'm beginning to realize how uncomfortably it mirrors my own predicament."
"Would you rather play Hamlet's mother?"
"No. Well, maybe. But why couldn't I play Hamlet himself? I can be heard all over the stage, and you said so yourself, just yesterday, that I can definitely emote. Like crazy, if you'll forgive my choice of words."
"The role has been undertaken occasionally by women, according to the theatre history texts. I'm sure the robots would be only too positronically fulfilled to support you in a production of Hamlet. Or of any other play."
"I meant why couldn't I play Hamlet in this production?”
"Aha. You had your chance, but you volunteered to play Ophelia first! You were guilty of your own biased thinking-before I had the chance to engage in my biased thinking, that is. "
"That's true," she replied, in tones a bit more serious than he thought his words warranted. "Besides, I think there're reasons why you picked Hamlet, beyond the ones that have to do with Canute. You could have picked any number of plays, you know, like Othello or Julius Salad. "
"That's Julius Caesar!"
"Right. Anyway, I think you already saw a lot of yourself in him-the mad romantic, the soul-searching adventurer, the vain, pompous, arrogant, stubborn…stubborn…"