"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.
Indeed, once he stepped into the stream, Derec was rushed headlong down the events of the playas if he had been swept up by rapids. He even forgot to spring some of his surprises on Canute, slight line changes reflecting the events of the past few weeks that, presumably, were subtle enough that only Canute would grasp their import and realize Derec was planning to put him on the spot. Derec eventually signaled Mandelbrot that he was calling off that entire aspect of his plot, because to change the play at this point, even for a good reason, seemed almost criminal.
All the robots performed brilliantly, with perfect precision. Derec realized that his fears the show might be unsuccessful were ungrounded, at least on that score. For he was dealing with robots, not humans who might vary their performances from time to time. Once the robots had grasped Derec's meanings during rehearsal, they had never deviated from them. And tonight was no exception.
Needless to say, Canute had given away nothing during rehearsal. But tonight, during the performance, he played his role beautifully, almost brilliantly. He played Claudius as Derec would have liked to have instructed him to play the role, but had refrained for fear of tipping too much of his hand. Tonight Canute was arrogant, controlled, self-assured, guilt-ridden, and obsessed with holding onto what he imagined was rightfully his.
It was almost as if, having decided that it would weather the production without being exposed, Canute had mentally relaxed and had permitted itself to be swept down the same rapids.