“Lilith? Thor? Oh, thank God! I've been everywhere trying to find a friendly face. Has the world gone crazy?”
“You should dress more warmly in this latitude,” said Watchman calmly.
“What does that matter? Listen, where's my father? Our androids ran wild. Clissa's dead. They raped her. Hacked her up. I just barely got away. And wherever I go—Thor, what's happening? What's happening?”
“They should not have harmed your wife,” Watchman said. “I offer my regrets. Such a thing was unnecessary.”
“She was their friend,” Manuel said. “Gave money secretly to the AEP, did you know that? And—and—good God, I'm losing my mind. The tower doesn't look straight.” He blinked and pressed his thumbs into his eyeballs several times. “Still seems to be sagging. Tipped way over? How can that be? No. No. Crazy in the head. God help me. But at least you're here. Lilith? Lilith?” He reached for her. He was trembling convulsively. “I'm so cold, Lilith. Please hold me. Take me away somewhere. Just the two of us. I love you, Lilith. I love you, I love you, I love you. All that I have left now—”
He reached for her.
She eluded his grasp. He clutched air. Swinging free of him, she thrust herself at Watchman, pressing her body tightly against his. Watchman enfolded her in his arms. He smiled triumphantly. His hands ran down her sleek, supple body, testing the tautness of back and buttocks. His lips sought for hers. His tongue plunged into her warm mouth.
“Lilith!” Manuel shrieked.
Watchman felt an overwhelming tremor of sensuality. His body was aflame; every nerve-ending throbbed: he was fully awake to his manhood now. Lilith was quicksilver in his arms. Her breasts, her thighs, her loins, blazed against him. He was only dimly aware of Manuel's baleful croaking.
“The tower!” Manuel bellowed. “The tower!”
Watchman let go of Lilith. Pivoting, he faced the tower, body flexed, expectant. From the earth there came a terrible grinding noise. There came sucking sounds of gurgling mud. The tundra rippled and bubbled. He heard a cracking sound and thought of toppling trees. The tower leaned. The tower leaned. The tower leaned. The reflector plates cast a shimmering stream of brightness along its eastern face. Within, the communications equipment was plainly visible, seeds in the pod. The tower leaned. At its base, on the western side, huge mounds of icy soil were being thrust up, reaching almost to the entrance of the control center. There came snapping sounds, as of the breaking of violin strings. The tower leaned. There was a squishing, sliding sound: how many tons of glass were rocking on their foundations now? What mighty joints were yielding in the earth? The androids, standing in massed rows out of harm's way, were desperately making the sign of Krug-preserve-us; the muttered hum of their prayers cut through the eerie noises out of the pit. Manuel was sobbing. Lilith gasped, and moaned in a way that he had heard twice before, when she had lain beneath him in the final frenzies of her orgasm. Watchman himself was serene. The tower leaned.
Now it tumbled. Air rushed wildly past Watchman, displaced by that falling bulk, and nearly threw him down. The base of the tower barely seemed to move at all, while the midsection changed its angle of thrust in a leisurely way, and the unfinished summit described a sudden fierce arc as it sped wildly toward the ground. Down and down and down it came. Its falling was encapsulated in a moment outside time; Watchman could separate each phase of the collapse from the one before, as if he were viewing a series of individual images. Down. Down. The air whined and screeched. It had a scorched smell. The tower was striking, not all at once but in sections, striking and rebounding and landing again, breaking up, sending immense gouts of mud flying, hurling its own shattered blocks for great distances. The climax of the toppling appeared to last for many minutes, as humps of glass wall rose and fell so that the tower seemed to writhe like a giant wounded snake. A terrible rumbling boom echoed endlessly. Then, finally, all was still. Crystalline fragments lay strewn across hundreds of meters. The androids had their heads bowed in prayer. Manuel was crouched dismally at Lilith's feet, cheek against her right shin. Lilith stood with her legs apart, her shoulders flung back, her breasts heaving; she glowed in the aftermath of ecstasy. Watchman, a short distance from her, felt wondrously calm, though he sensed the first taint of sadness entering his jubilation now that the tower was down. He pulled Lilith close to him.
A moment later, Simeon Krug emerged from one of the transmats. Watchman had expected that. Krug shaded his eyes with his hand, as though warding off some dazzling glare, and looked around. He peered at the place where the tower had arisen. He glanced at the hushed, huddled gangs of androids. He stared for a long while at the immense stretch of sleek rubble. At last he turned toward Thor Watchman.
“How did this happen?” Krug asked, quietly, his voice under rigid control.
“The refrigeration tapes ceased to function properly. The permafrost thawed.”
“We had a dozen redundancy overrides to prevent such a thing.”
“I overrode the overrides,” said Watchman.
“You?”
“I felt a sacrifice was needed.”
Krug's eerie calmness did not desert him. “This is the way you repay me, Thor? I gave you life. I'm your father, in a way. And I denied you something that you wanted, and so you smashed my tower. Eh? Eh? What sense did that make, Thor?”
“It made sense.”
“Not to me,” Krug said. He laughed bitterly. “But of course I'm only a god. Gods don't always understand the ways of mortals.”
“Gods can fail their people,” Watchman said. “You failed us.”
“It was your tower too! You gave a year of your life to it, Thor! I know how you loved it. I was inside your head, remember? And yet—and yet you—”
Krug broke off, sputtering, coughing.
Watchman took Lilith's hand. “We should go, now. We've done what we came to do here. We'll return to Stockholm and join the others.”
Together they walked around the silent, motionless Krug and headed toward the transmat bank. Watchman switched one of the transmats on. The field was pure green, the right color; things must have returned to order at the transmat headquarters.
He reached out to set the coordinates. As he did so, he heard Krug's anguished roar:
“Watchman!”
The android looked behind him. Krug stood a few meters from the transmat cubicle. His face was red and distorted with rage, jaws working, eyes narrowed, heavy creases running through the cheeks. His hands clawed the air. In a sudden furious lunge Krug seized Watchman's arm and pulled him from the transmat.
Krug seemed to be searching for words. He found none. After a moment's confrontation he lashed out, slapping Watchman's face. It was a powerful blow, but Watchman made no attempt to return it. Krug hit him again, this time with clenched fist. Watchman backed toward the transmat.
Making a thick, strangled sound deep in his throat, Krug rushed forward. He caught Watchman by the shoulders and began to shake him frantically. Watchman was astounded by the ferocity of Krug's movements. Krug kicked him; he spat; he dug his nails deep into Watchman's flesh. Watchman tried to separate himself from Krug. Krug's head battered itself in frenzy against Watchman's chest. It would not be hard to hurl Krug aside, Watchman knew. But he could not do it.
He could not raise his hand to Krug.
In the fury of his onslaught Krug had pushed Watchman nearly to the edge of the transmat field. Watchman glanced uneasily over his shoulder. He had not set any coordinates; the field was open, a conduit to nowhere. If he or Krug happened to fall into it now—
“Thor!” Lilith called. “Look out!”
The green glow licked at him. Krug, a meter shorter than he was, continued to ram and thrust. It was time to bring the struggle to an end, Watchman knew. He put his hands on Krug's thick arms and shifted his balance, preparing to hurl his attacker to the ground.
But this is Krug, he thought.
But this is Krug.
But this is Krug.
Now K
rug let go. Puzzled, Watchman sucked his breath and attempted to brace himself. And now Krug came charging forward, shouting, screaming. Watchman accepted the thrust of Krug's attack. Krug's shoulder crashed into Watchman's chest. Once again, the android found an event encapsulating itself in a moment outside time. He drifted backward as though freed of gravity, moving timelessly, with infinite slowness. The green transmat field surged up to engulf him. Dimly he heard Lilith's scream; dimly he heard Krug's cry of triumph. Gently, easily, serenely, Watchman tumbled into the green glow, making the sign of Krug-preserve-us as he disappeared.
37
Krug clings to the side of the transmat cubicle, panting, shivering. He has checked his momentum just in time; another step or two and he would have followed Thor Watchman into the field. He rests a moment. Then he steps back. He turns.
The tower lies in ruin. Thousand of androids stand like statues. The alpha woman Lilith Meson lies face down on the thawing tundra, sobbing. A dozen meters away Manuel kneels, a sorry figure, bloodstained, mudspattered, his clothing in rags, his eyes empty, his face slack.
Krug feels a great sense of peace. His spirit soars; he is free from all bondage. He walks toward Manuel.
“Up,” he says. “Get up.”
Manuel continues to kneel. Krug scoops him up, gripping his armpits, and holds him until he stands on his own strength.
Krug says, “You're in charge, now. I leave you everything. Lead the resistance, Manuel. Take control. Work toward restoring order. You're the top man. You're Krug. Do you understand me, Manuel? As of this moment I abdicate.”
Manuel smiles. Manuel coughs. Manuel looks at the muddy ground.
“It's all yours boy. I know you can manage. Things may look bleak today, but that's only temporary. You've got an empire, now, Manuel. For you. For Clissa. For your children.”
Krug embraces his son. Then he goes to the transmats. He selects the coordinates for the vehicle-assembly center in Denver.
Thousands of androids are there, although no one seems to be working. They stare at Krug in paralyzed astonishment. He move swiftly through the place. “Where's Alpha Fusion?” he demands. “Has anyone seen him?”
Romulus Fusion appears. He looks stunned by the sight of Krug. Krug gives him no chance to speak.
“Where's the starship?” he asks at once.
“At the spacefield,” the alpha says, stumbling.
“Take me there.”
Romulus Fusion's lips move hesitantly, as though he wants to tell Krug that there has been a revolution, that Krug is no longer the master, that his orders have ceased to carry weight. But Alpha Fusion says none of these things. He merely nods.
He conducts Krug to the starship. There it stands, as before, alone on the broad pad.
“Is it ready to go?” Krug asks.
“We would have given it the Earth-orbit flight-test three days from now, sir.”
“No time for testing, now. Immediate blastoff for interstellar voyage. We'll run it on automatic. Crew of one. Tell the ground station to program the ship for its intended final destination, as discussed earlier. Maximum velocity.”
Romulus Fusion nods again. He moves as though in a dream. “I will convey your instructions,” he says.
“Good. Get things going fast.”
The alpha trots off the field. Krug enters the ship, closing and sealing the hatch behind him. The planetary nebula NGC 7293 in Aquarius sizzles in his mind, emitting brilliant pulsing light, poisonous light that clangs like a gong in the heavens. Krug is coming, he says to himself. Wait. Wait for me, you up there! Krug is coming to talk to you. Somehow. There'll be a way.
Even if your sun gives off fire that bakes my bones when I'm ten light-years away. Krug is coming to talk to you.
He walks through the ship. Everything is in order.
He does not activate his screens for a last view of Earth; Krug has turned his back on Earth. He knows that if he looks out, he will see the fires that are blazing in every city tonight, and he does not want to see that; the only fire that concerns him now is that fiery ring in Aquarius. Earth is something he has bequeathed to Manuel.
Krug removes his clothing. Krug lies down in one of the freezer units of the life-suspension system. He is ready to depart. He does not know how long the voyage will last, nor if he will find anything at the end of it. But they have left him no choice. He gives himself over completely to his machines, to his starship.
Krug waits.
Will they obey him in this last command?
Krug waits.
The glass cover of the freezer unit suddenly slides into place, sealing him in. Krug smiles. Now he feels the coolant fluid trickling in; he hisses as it touches his flesh. It rises about him. Yes. Yes. The voyage will soon begin. Krug will go to the stars. Outside, the cities of Earth are ablaze. That other fire draws him, the gong in the heavens. Krug is coming! Krug is coming! The coolant fluid nearly covers his body, now. He is sinking into lethargy; his body suspends its throbbing, his fevered brain grows calm. He has never been so fully relaxed before. Phantoms dance through his mind: Clissa, Manuel, Thor, the tower, Manuel, the tower, Thor, Clissa. Then they are gone and he sees only the fiery ring of NGC 7293. That too begins to fade. He scarcely is breathing now. Sleep is taking him. He will not feel the blastoff. Five kilometers away, a handful of perversely faithful androids are talking to a computer; they are sending Krug to the stars. He waits. Now he sleeps. The cold fluid engulfs him completely. Krug is at peace. He departs from forever from Earth. He begins his journey at last.
THE END
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Robert Silverberg, Tower of Glass
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