Free Tower of Glass by Robert Silverberg Page A

into each unformed mind. He donned a helmet and listened to a language tape. The education of an android, he was told, lasted one year for a gamma, two for a beta, four for an alpha. The maximum, then, was six years from conception to full adulthood. He had never fully appreciated the swiftness of it all before. Somehow the new knowledge made androids seem infinitely less human to him. Suave, authoritative, commanding Thor Watchman was something like nine or ten years old, Manuel realized. And the lovely Lilith Meson was—what? Seven? Eight?
    Manuel felt a sudden powerful urge to escape from this place.
    “We have a group of betas just about to leave the factory,” said Bompensiero. “They are undergoing their final checkout today, with tests in linguistic precision, coordination, motor response, metabolic adjustment, and several other aspects. Perhaps you would care to inspect them yourself and personally “
    “No,” Manuel said. “It’s been fascinating. But I’ve taken up too much of your time already, and I have an appointment elsewhere, so I really must—”
    Bompensiero did not look grieved to be rid of him. “As you wish,” he said obligingly. “But of course, we remain at your service whenever you choose to visit us again, and—”
    “Where is the transmat cubicle, please?”
     
    * * *
     
    2241, Stockholm. Jumping westward to Europe, Manuel lost the rest of the day. Dark, icy evening had descended here; the stars were sharp, and a sleety wind ruffled the “waters of Malaren. To foil any possibility of being traced he had jumped to the public transmat cubicle in the lobby of the wondrous old Grand Hotel. Now, shivering, he walked briskly through the autumnal gloom to another cubicle outside the gray bulk of the Royal Opera, put his thumb to the charge- plate, and bought a jump to Stockholm’s Baltic side, emerging in the mellow, venerable residential district of Östermalm. This was the android quarter now. He hurried down Birger Jarlsgaten to the once-splendid nineteenth-century apartment building where Lilith lived. Pausing outside, he looked about carefully, saw that the streets were empty, and darted into the building. A robot in the lobby scanned him and asked his purpose in a flat, froglike voice. “Visiting Lilith Meson, alpha,” Manuel said. The robot raised no objection. Manuel had his choice of getting to her flat by liftshaft or by stairs. He took the stain. Musty smells pursued him and shadows danced alongside him all the way to the fifth floor.
    Lilith greeted him in a sumptuous, clinging, floor-length high-spectrum gown. Since it was nothing more than a mono- molecular film, it left no contour of her body concealed. She drifted forward, arms outstretched, lips parted, breasts heaving, whispering his name. He reached for her.
    He saw her as a speck drifting in a vat.
    He saw her as a mass of replicating nucleotides.
    He saw her naked and wet and vacant-eyed, shambling out of her nursery chamber.
    He saw her as thing, manufactured by men.
    Thing. Thing. Thing. Thing. Thing. Thing. Thing.
    Lilith.
    He had known her for five months. They had been lovers for three. Thor Watchman had introduced them. She was on the Krug staff.
    Her body pressed close to his. He brought his hand up and cupped one of her breasts. It felt warm and real and firm through the monomolecular gown, and he drew his thumb across the tip of her nipple it hardened and rose in excitement. Real. Real.
    Thing.
    He kissed her. His tongue slipped between her lips. He tasted the taste of chemicals. Adenine, guanine, cytosine, uracil. He smelled the smell of the vats. Thing. Thing. Beautiful thing. Thing in woman’s shape. Well named, Lilith. Thing.
    She drew away from him and said, “You went to the factory?”
    “Yes.”
    “And you learned more about androids than you wanted to know.”
    “No, Lilith.”
    “You see me with different eyes now. You can’t help remembering what I really am.”
    “That is absolutely not