Leo Frankowski

Liebchen, go make that stuff,” Guibedo said.
    As Liebchen scurried to the kitchen, the
I/O unit said, “My lord?”
    “What now?”
    “Was I right to
violate privacy on this occasion?”
    “Yah. This time.
Just don’t do it too often.”
    “Thank you, my
lord.”
    When Mona and Patty walked up from the
tunnel into the kitchen, Mona said,
“Uncle Martin, there’s something—”
    “Yah, I know.
Dirk told me.” Guibedo shoved the pink grapefruit juice-and-milk concoction into
Patty’s hand.
“Drink this.”
    “I—I don’t know
if I should. I mean, I’ve been happy with you.”
    “I love you, too.
But you would have been just as happy on heroin, and that ain’t real, either.
Drink!”
    “But—”
    “You’re going to
drink that or I’ll have Dirk pour it down your throat!”
    Dirk shifted his weight uneasily, unsure
of the correct course of action if he received such an order.
    “Uncle Martin!
Take it easy, for god’s sake,” Mona said.
    “Ach…” Guibedo stomped into
the living room, followed by Dirk. Liebchen tried to make herself inconspi cuous in a corner.
    Things were silent
for a minute, then Patricia said, “You know, he really does love me.”
And she drained the contents of the glass with one gulp.
    A half hour later,
Guibedo was trying to look interested in a six-month-old magazine as Patricia
walked up to him. Her
expression held pity and an involuntary touch
of revulsion.
    “I … see you drank it,
Patty.”
    “Yes. It’s… strange. Do you think
that we could…”
    “No. That’s all
done now,” Guibedo said gruffly. “Look. It was a lot of fun, but it
wasn’t real. You’ll find yourself a nice boy. Me, well, Heiny bought me some
land near the ocean, and Mole just finished digging a tunnel to it. I’m gonna
go there and work on my boats.”
    “But we could
try—”
    “You’re not
being honest, Patty. In a week your pity would turn into disgust. Better we break it
clean, and we both have pretty memories. Look. I give you Oakwood for a present. I
don’t need it anymore. Dirk will get my stuff moved out.” Guibedo went to the
door and turned.
    “Good-bye,
Patty.”
    He wanted to kiss her
a last time, but he was afraid that she’d go through with it out of pity. He was out
the door
before the tears filled his eyes.
    He was sitting on a
park bench when Liebchen and Dirk found him. Dirk hovered protectively a a distance. Liebchen sat at his
side.
    “My lord. It is
so late. Where will you go? How can you find your way in the dark?”
    “I don’t know,
Liebchen. But I’ve been on the bottom before. And then I didn’t have any
friends.”

Chapter Twelve
    OCTOBER 19,2003
     
    F OR THE next few hundred years, one of our primary functions must be the
collection of data on the humans.
    After all, they are
to a certain extent our ancestors, and we should at least have accurate records
concerning them once they are no more.
    —Central Coordination Unit to all
Regional Coordination Units
     
    Hastings sat with a
beer in a deserted room of the Red Gate Inn. He had been in Life Valley for
three days, looking for a cripple named Heinrich Copernick and an obese former biology
teacher named Martin Guibedo. He wasn’t surprised that he hadn’t found them yet. There were millions
of people in the valley. There were no street addresses or telephone books, and
Hastings knew
better than to ask too many questions.
    He could wait. Food
was plentiful and he attracted no attention by sleeping in the parks. Someday
they would slip and he would get them.
    A huge man with an
oversized beer mug came in and sat down at Hastings’ table.
    “Have a
seat,” Hastings said.
    “Thank
you.”
    “Been around
here long?”
    “About three
years,” Copernick said.
    “You must have
been one of the first settlers, then. Most people around here seem to be
newcomers.”
    “I was. They
are.” Copernick lit a cigar.
    “Hey. Tobacco.
It’s been months since I had a smoke.”
    “Have one. My
tree house grows them.”
    Hastings inhaled
deeply. “Now that’s lovely. Quite a city here. It must have been something to
watch this place grow up.”
    “It was. Have
you planted your tree yet?”
    “Not yet,”
Hastings said. “Thought I’d look around a bit to get an idea about what I wanted
and where I wanted to put it.”
    “Smart. No big
hurry. One place you might want to check out is about ten miles south of here.
A group of ex-military types are putting in a town. You had to have been at