"Egotist."
"Right. Egotist."
Derec smiled. It was exciting to have her sitting next to him. Except for rehearsing bits of business together, they hadn't been this close for some time, and he was surprised to discover how much he liked it. He was nervous and relaxed at the same time.
"Derec? Pay attention. I'm talking to you," she said gently. "Listen, I've been thinking about the differences between us and the people back then, or the way they were presented, anyway. I can't help but wonder if anyone today ever has the kind of love Ophelia has for Hamlet."
"Or Lady Macbeth has for Macbeth?"
"I'm serious. I know Ophelia is definitely a weak creature. 'Hi there, Dad. Use me as a pawn in your nefarious schemes. Please?' But for all that, she really does love with a consuming passion. I've never met anyone on Aurora who's felt that kind of love…that I know of, naturally. But I think I would be able to tell if there were any Ophelias out there."
"How about yourself?" he asked with an unexpected catch in his voice.
"Me? No, I've never felt that kind of passion." She narrowed her eyes as she looked at him. He couldn't help but wonder what she was really thinking as she pulled away from him, put her foot on the bed, and rested her head on her knee. "I've had sex, of course, and crushes, but nothing like what aphelia must feel." She paused, buried her face in her gown, then lifted her head just enough so he could see her raise an eyebrow. With a decidedly interesting intent. "I might be persuaded to try, though."
Derec felt a lump the size of a sidewalk get stuck in his throat. "Ariel!"
"Derec-are you a virgin?"
"How am I supposed to know? I have amnesia!" Now it was his turn to raise his eyebrows, as she moved closer to him.
"You know, there's another aspect to Ophelia," she said. "She represents something." Closer. "Something Hamlet needs but which he has to deny to have his revenge."
"He was a user, too."
"How about that." Closer.
She leaned forward. He kissed her. No, he couldn't remember having felt anything quite like this before. Feeling obligated to pursue the matter scientifically, though, he felt confident he might remember after a little more experimentation.
"Wait," she said after a time, pushing away. "I'm sorry. I got carried away there. I'm not always in control of myself."
"Uh, that's all right," he replied, suddenly feeling slightly embarrassed.
"That's not the point. It's my medical condition. Don't be offended, but right now I'm feeling a little healthier than common sense tells me I should. Remember how I acquired my little condition."
"Don't worry, I won't forget," he said, drawing her toward him to kiss her again. Their lips were millimeters apart when there was an insistent knocking at the door. "Damn!" he whispered in response. "It must be the Brain Police!"
"Master Derec?" said a stone cold, metallic voice outside. "Mistress Ariel?" Itwas the voice of a hunter robot.
"Yes? What is it?" Derec shouted. Then in a whisper. "See? I was right, in a way."
"Mandelbrot sent me to locate you and remind you that you should depart for the New Globe soon. There are a few details that only you can provide."
"All right," Derec said. "We'll be there soon."
"Very good, sir," said the Hunter robot, its voice already fading.
"What did you say?" she asked. "Brain Police."
"I don't know. It just popped into my head."
"If I remember correctly, the Brain Police are something from some children's holodrarna I saw when I was growing up. It's famous. They're from-from that series called Tyrants of Blood."
Derec was amazed. " About a masked man who rescues helpless thought deviants on a totalitarian planet. I remember. Is that a clue to my identity?"
"I doubt it. I said it was famous-and it was syndicated, seen allover the known systems. It's been playing for generations."
"Oh. So it means nothing."
"No, it means at least we can be sure you're from some civilized world."
"Thanks a lot. Come on. Our public awaits."
Chapter 8. To Be, Or What?
"Master, if my understanding of human nature is correct, you'll be happy to know that we have a full house," said Mandelbrot.
"Thanks, but I saw them lining up on my way in," said Derec as he hastily donned the tight breeches that were a part of his costume. He waited until he had put on the remainder of his costume-a purple tunic over a white shirt with ruffled sleeves, and a pair of boots-before he asked Mandelbrot, "How's Canute? Has it done anything unusual-anything that might indicate it knows about my special plans?"
"So far it appears to be acting like the rest of the robots. That is, as calm as ever."
"You're not nervous at all, are you?"
"I am naturally concerned that the illusion proceeds as planned, as are all the robots, but the only nervousness I might possess, if I may use such a word as 'nervousness,' revolves around my concern that you perform in accordance with your own standards."
"Thanks. How much time do we have?"
"Mere moments until curtain."
"Everything in place?"
"Everything but your greasepaint, master.”
“My makeup! I forgot all about it."
Mandelbrot helped him apply it, in great heaps that Derec was certain would appear primitive and grotesquely overstated when picked up by the cameras. "Is the stage ready?" Derec asked. "Everything in its proper placer'
"Naturally."
"But the Hunter said-"
"Forgive me, master, but I deduced how you would want the remaining details handled."
Derec nodded, but said nothing. Suddenly he was gripped by the overriding fear that he would step out on stage and forget every single one of his lines. Or worse, he would begin acting out the wrong scene.
"Relax, master. I am confident you will perform to the letter."
Derec smiled. He looked in the mirror. He hoped he looked fine. Then he walked out into the wings, joining Ariel and the robots.
Wolruf sat on a special chair in the very rear section of the backstage area, before a bank of screens showing the stage from several angles. Three supervisor robots sat in chairs before the screens, operating automatic cameras concealed throughout the theatre that, with appropriate zooms and pans would provide a total picture of everything on stage. All that was left was for Wolruf to call the shots and to tell one of the robots what should be broadcast to the holoscreens throughout the city.
Beside her was a huge dish of artificial roughage. Though her concentration was on the screens, she was absent-mindedly, systematically picking up handfuls and stuffing them into her mouth.
If she had a tail,Derec thought, she'd be wagging it in happiness.
"Master, it's curtain time!" said Mandelbrot.
Derec raised an eyebrow. "Mandelbrot! Is that a quiver of excitement I detect in your voice?"
Mandelbrot shook his head-Derec couldn't tell if it was from confusion or from a desire to communicate an emphatic no. "That would be impossible." He straightened and paused. "Unless I've assimilated some of your lessons on voice inflection, and have begun using them without conscious knowledge."
"Later, Mandelbrot, later. Let's get this show on the, uh, road." He gave a signal to a stagehand, and the curtain rose.
A single shaft of light revealed the robot playing Francisco, the guard at his post, standing in the center of the stage. The robot playing Bernardo entered and said, "Who's there?"
Francisco stood straight, gestured with his spear, and said in authoritative tones, "Nay, answer me; stand, and unfold yourself."
At the moment, Derec could not recall a single one of his lines, not even those of the difficult soliloquy, but now he felt confident that he would know what to do and what to say when the time came. He steeled himself, realizing that he would have to forget about being Derec What's-his-name for a while. For the next three hours, he would be somebody else. somebody called Hamlet, Prince of Denmark.