The fire dazzled him and burnned his eyes. He shut his eye and put his arm over his face. "Who is it?" he said.
The voice said, "It is Ehyeh."
"Well," Herb Asher said, amazed. It was the deity of the mountain, speaking to him openly, without an electronic interface. A strange sense of his own worthlessness overcame Herb Asher, and he kept his face covered. "What do you want?" he said. "I mean, it's late. This is my sleep cycle."
"Sleep no more," Yah said.
"I've had a hard day." He was frightened.
Yah said, "I command you to take care of the ailing girl. She is all alone. If you do not hasten to her side I will burn down your dome and all the equipment in it, as well as all you own besides. I will scorch you with flame until you wake up. You are not awake, Herbert, not yet, but I will cause you to be awake; I will make you rise up from your bunk and go and help her. Later I will tell her and you why, but now you are not to know."
"I don't think you have the right person," Asher said. "I think you should be talking to M.E.D. It's their responsibility."
At that moment an acrid stench reached his nose. And, as he watched in dismay, his control board burned down to the floor, into a little pile of slag.
Shit, he thought.
"Were you to lie again to her about your portable air," Yah said, "I would afflict you terribly, beyond repair, just as this equipment is now beyond repair. Now I shall destroy your Linda Fox tapes." Immediately the cabinet in which Herb Asher kept his video and audio tapes began to burn.
"Please," he said.
The flames disappeared. The tapes were undamaged. Herb Asher got up from his bunk and went over to the cabinet; reaching out his hand he touched the cabinet-and instantly yanked his hand away; the cabinet was searingly hot.
"Touch it again," Yah said.
"I will not," Asher said.
"You will trust the Lord your God."
He reached out again and this time found the cabinet cold. So he ran his fingers over the plastic boxes containing the tapes. They, too, were cold. "Well, goodness," he said, at a loss.
"Play one of the tapes," Yah said.
"Which one?"
"Any one."
He selected a tape at random and placed it into the deck. He turned his audio system on.
The tape was blank.
"You erased my Fox tapes," he said.
"That is what I have done," Yah said.
"Forever?"
"Until you hasten to the side of the ailing girl and care for her."
"Now? She's probably asleep."
Yah said, "She is sitting crying."
The sense of worthlessness within Herb Asher burgeoned; in shame he shut his eyes. "I'm sorry," he said.
"It is not too late. If you hurry you can reach her in time."
"What do you mean, 'in time'?"
Yah did not answer, but in Herb Asher' s mind appeared a picture, resembling a hologram; it was in color and it was in depth. Rybys Rommey sat at her kitchen table in a blue robe; on the table was a bottle of medication and a glass of water. In dejection she sat resting her chin on her fist; in her fist she clutched a wadded-up handkerchief.
"I'll get my suit on," Asher said; he popped the suit-compartment door open, and his suit-little used and long neglected-tumbled out onto the floor.
Ten minutes later he stood outside his dome, in the bulky suit, his lamp sweeping out over the expanse of frozen methane before him; he trembled, feeling the cold even through the suit-which was a delusion, he realized, since the suit was absolutely insulat- ing. What an experience, he said to himself as he started walking down the slope. Roused out of my sleep in the middle of the night, my equipment burned down, my tapes erased-bulk erased in their totality.
The methane crystals crunched under his boots as he walked down the slope, homing in on the automatic signal emitted by Rybys Rommey's dome; the signal would guide him. Pictures inside my head, he thought. Pictures of a girl about to take her own life. It's a good thing Yah woke me. She probably would have done it.
He was still frightened, and as he descended the slope he sang to himself an old Communist Party marching song.
Because he fought for freedom
He was forced to leave his home.
Near the blood-stained Manzanares,
Where he led the fight to hold Madrid,
Died Hans, the Commissar,
Died Hans, the Commissar.
With heart and hand I pledge you,
While I load my gun again,
You will never be forgotten,
Nor the enemy forgiven,
Hans Beimler, our Commissar,
Hans Beimler, our Commissar.
CHAPTER 4
As Herb Asher descended the slope the meter in his hand showed the homing signal growing in strength. She ascended this hill to get to my dome, he realized. I made her walk uphill, since I wouldn't go to her. I made a sick girl toil her way up step by step, carrying an armload of supplies. I will fry in hell.
But, he realized, it's not too late.
He made me take her seriously, Asher realized. I simply was not taking her seriously. It was as if I imagined that she was making up her illness. Telling a tale to get attention. What does that say about me? he asked himself. Because in point of fact I really knew she was sick, truly sick, not faking it. I have been asleep, he said to himself. And, while I slept, a girl has been dying.
And then he thought about Yah, and he trembled. I can get my rig repaired, he thought. The gear that Yah burned down. That won't be hard; all I have to do is notify the mother ship and inform them that I suffered a meltdown. And Yah promised to restore to me my Fox tapes-which undoubtedly he can do. But I've got to go back to that dome and live there. How can I live there? I can't live there. It's impossible.
Yah has plans for me, he thought. And he felt fear, realizing this. He can make me do anything.
Rybys greeted him impassively. She did have on a blue robe and she did hold a wadded-up handkerchief, and, he saw, her eyes were red from crying. "Come in," she said, although he was already in the dome; she seemed a little dazed. "I was thinking about you," she said. "Sitting and thinking."
On the kitchen table stood a medicine bottle. Full.
"Oh, that," she said. "I was having trouble sleeping and I was thinking about taking a sleeping pill."
"Put it away," he said.
Obediently, she returned the bottle to her bathroom cabinet.
"I owe you an apology," he said.
"No you don't. Want something to drink? What time is it?" She turned to look at her wall clock. "I was up anyhow; you didn't wake me. Some telemetric data was coming in." She pointed to her gear; lights showed, indicating activity.
He said, "I mean I had air. Portable air."
"I know that. Everyone has portable air. Sit down; I'll fix you tea." She rooted in an overflowing drawer beside her stove. "Somewhere I have teabags."
Now, for the first time, he became aware of the condition of her dome. It was shocking. Dirty dishes, pots and pans and even glasses of spoiled food, soiled clothing strewn everywhere, litter and debris ... Troubled, he gazed around, wondering if he should offer to clean up the place. And she moved so slowly, with such evident fatigue. He had an intuition, suddenly, that she was far sicker than she had originally led him to believe.
"It's a sty," she said.
He said, "You are very tired."
"Well, it wears me out to heave up my guts every day of the week. Here's a teabag. Shit; it's been used once. I use them and then dry them out. It's OK once, but sometimes I find I'm reusing the same bag again and again. I'll try to find a fresh one." She continued to rummage.
The TV screen showed a picture. It was an animated horror: a vast hemorrhoid that swelled and pulsed angrily. "What are you watching?" Asher asked. He averted his gaze from the animation.
"There's a new soap opera on. It just began the other day. 'The Splendor of-' I forget. Somebody or something. It's really interesting. They've been running it a lot."