“Why not?” What was she doing wrong?

“Because you are not one of those who saw to my reactivation.”

She was ready for that. “Since prior to your reactivation you had no cognitive abilities, how do you know I wasn’t present and didn’t participate in that process?”

“I know a great many things which would surprise you. About ancient wars and technologies, the state of the universe, about consciousness and perception.” The blue ellipse bobbed gently a meter above the sand. “One thing I am certain of is that you could not have participated in my awakening because only five organics did. Five organics and a subservient mechanical. Now there are six organics. This logic is basic.”

“I see. What if there were only five organics present now?”

“There are six.”

“True. But if there were five, would I be counted among the critical number and consequently able to issue directives to which you would respond?”

As she waited for the Autothor to reply she looked again to the figures in the water. During the past week she’d come to know them pretty well. They really were a bunch of old darlings. Shimoda would have the hardest neck to break. Heath would be the next toughest. The other three were not worth worrying about.

“You can’t contravene logic so simply,” the refulgent Blueness was telling her. “If one of the five were to be not here, then there would be four. Four reactivators. Your presence alters only numbers, not history.”

“What if all of them became not here, or incapable of issuing directives, and only I remained?”

“Then I would be compelled to return to storage. That would be awkward for you.”

“How so?”

“Not having responsible organics to concern myself with, I would initiate a conservational shutdown of unnecessary facilities. These would include organic life-support systems.”

Despite the warm air and pseudo-sunshine, she felt a sudden chill. “That makes good sense. So I am correct in assuming that you will not accept any directives from me?”

“Only those involving food, liquid refreshment, or matters concerning personal hygiene, because I have been directed by my reactivators to do so.” There wasn’t a hint of hostility or rejection in the Autothor’s tone.

“That’s all right.” She smiled automatically, even though the expression was wasted on the device. “I just wanted to know. You don’t mind my inquiring, do you?”

“Certainly not. I am programmed to respond to all interrogatories that do not compromise integrity.”

“Good. Now, if you’ll pardon me, I think I’ll go join the other organics for a swim. Could you bring up the sunset, please? I really love the evening light.”

“I am sorry, but I cannot acknowledge that request because …”

“I know why. Forget it. No hard feelings.”

“No feelings are ‘hard,’ if I interpret your words correctly.” The brilliant turquoise oval floated noiselessly above the beach.

Her expression was unreadable as she turned and ran lithely down to the water’s edge, clearing the small waves with the grace and power of a trained hurdler, laughing and joking with the old men who cheered her on. As she splashed and giggled and joked with them she was counting down the minutes in her mind.

She had time left to try anything else she could think of. But not a lot of time. Unbeknownst to her elderly companions, that commodity was rapidly running out.

XVII

The announcement from the Autothor interrupted the barbecue on the beach, which meal was progressing pleasantly under the combined supervision of Hawkins and the Ksarusix. The artificial steaks were blackening nicely above the sizzling synthesized charcoal, though neither man nor robot could do anything about the unpleasant glazed pink tinge attendant to the baked potatoes, which gave them the appearance of aborted insect larvae. The taste was right, though.

“There is another vessel alongside.”

The five nearly naked seniors looked at one another. They wore few clothes since they’d learned that the Autothor could adjust the temperature in the searoom (as they had come to refer to it) to suit their whim. To the delight of the men, Zabela Ashili chose to wear even less than they. Not only was that in keeping with Candomblean fashion, she was less in need than any of them of esthetic concealment.

“Let’s see it,” Shimoda murmured.

Instantly the familiar hovering holo appeared close by the compliant blue ellipse. Drifting within and dwarfed by the bulk of the artifact was a ship not much larger than the one which had brought Ashili.

“No markings.” Heath appraised the image professionally, having readopted his colonel persona for the benefit of their rescued waif. His companions were too polite, and too amused, to call him out on it. They were all aware that vanity’s name was not woman, but age.

“Candomblean.” They looked at Ashili. “I recognize the design. It’s a fleet-support medvac search craft. Come looking for me, I bet.”

“Admirable of them, what?” Heath murmured.

“Why have they waited so long? You disappeared days ago,” Iranaputra pointed out.

“First the Chakans, then her, old boy.” Heath postured with an elegance redolent of what had once been. “Wouldn’t you be cautious?”

“It looks like I won’t have to impose on you anymore.” Ashili smiled meltingly. “You’ve all been so good to me, when you had every right not to.”

Shimoda was fingering his clothing, which the Autothor had thoughtfully and immaculately cleaned. “I guess we’ll see you to the lock.”

“You don’t have to go to any trouble,” she told him. “I’m sure the Autothor can guide me.”

“It will not be any trouble.” Iranaputra was slipping into his pants. “It will be our pleasure to make certain you are returned safely to your people. Won’t it?” Everyone murmured assent, including Gelmann, who over the past several days had warmed to their guest in spite of her lingering suspicions.

“I can only thank you again, since I’ve seen nothing else of the artifact and would be glad of your company in a strange place.” She was pulling on the crumpled duty suit she’d been wearing when the Autothor had brought her in. “What about your barbecue?”

“No problem,” said Hawkins jauntily. “The ship will just synthesize another one.”

“Of course. I’m still not used to that,” she responded.

Outside the searoom the light was brighter, the vast chambers and corridors as imposing as ever in their abandoned vastness. The subtle moving room which had brought them to the outskirts of the artificial ocean transported them as far as it was able. From there they had to hike through two familiar chambers to reach the lock which had originally given them access to the artifact’s interior.

“Strange to be standing here again.” Iranaputra’s gaze roamed over the high, bare walls.

“Can’t tell you what a pleasure it’s been.” Heath stood close to their visitor. “Perhaps our paths may cross anew someday.”

She smiled up at the tall, straight-backed old man. “I’d almost bet on it.” Heath beamed as she looked at the others. He would have been crushed to learn that from the very first he had reminded Ashili not of a lover past or future, but of her father. “You’ve all been so nice, so caring. I almost wish that …” There was an odd undercurrent in her voice as the words trailed into inaudibility.

“Wish what, dear?” Gelmann prompted.

“Nothing. That I could spend more days like the last few, I guess.” She brightened. “I read somewhere that true humanity isn’t reached until the age of sixty.”

Hawkins winked at her. “Experience counts for a lot, kiddo.”

She had to grin. For the past week she’d felt as if she’d been pampered and cared for by five grandparents. She was startled to realize how deeply the experience had affected her.

“As per your instructions I have communicated with the small vessel.” The Autothor bobbed at Gelmann’s shoulder. “They have responded and are presently approaching the location of this airlock. I have opened the outer door.”