“That’s ridiculous. I said I don’t understand him fully, and I don’t. But I’ll tell you one thing that I am sure of. Esro likes you — Pipe-Rillas, and Tinkers, and Angels.”
“I agree. It makes no difference. Mondrian is not a simple man. There are others, like Commander Brachis, who hate all aliens in a direct and predictable way. We can allow for that, plan for it, and live with it. Mondrian is far more difficult. He likes us, but in some ways he cannot tolerate us. At a deep level he cannot stand the threat that the Stellar Group represents to him.”
“How can you possibly be a threat to Esro?”
“We do not know. Mondrian remains a mystery, even after all my work with him. In such a situation, the human solution might well be that we must destroy him. But that avenue is not open to our kind. We must help Mondrian. We must find the source of that destructive drive, and we must eradicate it from him. That is where you can assist us.”
“You don’t understand. I’ve tried to help Esro — God knows I’ve tried. But I can’t reach him, really get through to him. He’ll never tell me what ails him.”
“If it makes you feel better, I too have been unable to penetrate that shield, although my whole life and training have been for just such a purpose. But in my sessions with Mondrian I have become sure of one thing: he is torn apart by conflicting drives. He has the capacity for love, but it is drowned by internal fear. He is obsessed by the escaped Morgan Construct. Do you know why?”
“The Construct has to be destroyed. He’s been working for that, night and day.”
“He has been working, yes. Work is his life. But did you know that Mondrian originated the program for the Constructs? It was begun at his initiative. When the escaped Construct became a danger to everything in the Stellar Group, the ambassadors reluctantly decided that it must be destroyed. I do not question their decision. But I know that the decision to leave Esro Mondrian in charge of the operation was an awful mistake. He needs the Construct.”
“He is trying to destroy it!”
“Is he? I am not so sure. Suppose he has been choosing pursuit teams to control the Construct, rather than kill it? I know this: Mondrian will never allow the last Construct to disappear, if there is any conceivable way to save it. He needs it in some urgent mode, far below the conscious levels of his brain. His need stems from the early experience for which I have been probing. Thanks to your work, I now know that it happened in Africa. But it lies so deep-rooted that I despair of reaching it. The nature of his torment remains hidden. The compulsion continues … unless you help me to bring its cause to light.”
“I already told you, I can do nothing with Esro.”
“I disagree. Permit me one question. He has used you, over and over. You are a person with strength and a considerable intellect. Why do you continue to help him, knowing that he will use and abuse you again?”
Tatty found to her surprise that she was crying. Salt tears mingled with sweat and ran down her cheeks onto her upper lip. “1 don’t know. I suppose it’s because — because I have no one else. Without Esro, I have nothing. I have no one. He is all I have.”
“Possibly.” A soft forelimb came forward to stroke Tatty’s hair and dab at the tears on her cheeks. “But there is another explanation. Suppose that you stay because you know that you are all that he has. If not you, to whom would he turn for comfort? If not you, whom would he ask for help? You know that you love him. Ask yourself, do you want Mondrian destroyed?”
“No!” Tatty tried to sit up, but the bindings still restrained her. “I mean, I don’t know. Many times I’ve cursed him and wished him dead.”
“And always, you have relented. Always, you have been his support. If you really want to help Mondrian — and I have to tell you, it may be impossible, and already too late — then you must do the one thing that can make his treatment more effective: Remove your support. Tell him that it is all over, that he cannot come back to you and expect to be forgiven. Tell him that now he has no one\”
Skrynol reached forward and unclasped the bindings that held Tatty. She leaned forward, to place her open hands wearily to her face. “Suppose I did that? What good could it do him?”
“Perhaps it would do nothing. Perhaps he is past all help. But perhaps it would give me that little window, the chink of vulnerability that I need to treat him successfully. I admit it frankly: I am desperate, seeking any sort of lever. Your abandonment of him might provide it to me.”
Skrynol helped Tatty to her feet. She stood leaning against the giant skeletal figure. “Do you think it will succeed?”
“No, I do not. I believe that it will almost certainly fail.” The Pipe-Rilla gave an imitative human shrug of her narrow body. “But what choice do I have? Since it is the only course left to me, it must be attempted.”
Skrynol reached down to take Tatty’s hand, like an adult leading a small child. “Come. Let us away from here. If you are to have your confrontation with Mondrian, it must happen before he again leaves Earth.”
Tatty took a final look around the thiefhole as they moved on into stygian darkness. “Aren’t you going to tell me to keep this a secret? Suppose that I were to tell someone of this meeting. Wouldn’t it destroy all your plans?”
“Tell anyone.” Skrynol chuckled, but there was no humor in the cheerful voice. “You may tell anyone you like, Tatty Snipes. Who do you think would ever believe you?”
Chapter 32
Guard duty rosters were posted at the Sargasso Dump as a matter of principle. Nagging by the Dump’s computers allowed a few of those duties to be performed roughly as scheduled, but for the most critical functions — food, air supply, transportation, and safety — the guards were carefully excluded. They meant well, but most of them had long since lost all sense of time, urgency, or reliability.
So it was some other sense that brought the guards now to the great hemispherical dome of the Assembly Hall, and for half an hour they had been wandering in from all parts of the Dump. Luther Brachis would have been proud of them — and astonished. They came through the great master airlock with their dress uniforms neat, medals and insignia of office sparkling, and suit helmets newly polished. They took seats on rows of chairs facing the shrouded central platform, and waited without speaking.
Blaine Ridley sat alone at the control panel below the front of the platform. For the first time in weeks, his replacement eye was rolling and his jaw was working from side to side. He mirrored the excitement and anticipation of everyone in the hall.
At last he turned, and stared into the screened space behind him. He heard and saw nothing there.
But it was time.
His hand trembled as he pressed the button to roll away the metal screen. He had helped in the early phases, but the final body assembly had been done without him. For the past two days there had been no contact at all. If anything had gone wrong …