“It frees us for other work,” Herjellsen had said, “and, too, should one of us be unable to function, another will be able to take his place.”
“Skill redundancy,” had added Gunther, “is policy with Herjellsen.”
“I expect to be able to function,” had smiled Hamilton.
“I am confident,” had said Gunther, “you will fulfill all our expectations.”
Herjellsen, then, with Continental gallantry, had lifted his glass of wine to Hamilton. Hamilton had looked down at the table.
But the services of Hamilton, Hamilton had come to discover, more and more, day by day, were truly not needed. Two nights ago Hamilton had, deliberately, slipped an error into the print outs. Herjellsen, in less than fifteen minutes, had discovered it.
“This was careless of you, Doctor Hamilton,” he had said, “-and obvious.”
Herjellsen himself had corrected the program and completed the run.
“I wish to leave your employment,” Hamilton had told Herjellsen that evening.
“You are needed,” had said Herjellsen.
“I am not needed,” had said Hamilton.
“You are mistaken,” had said Herjellsen.
Now Hamilton stood on the porch of the computer building and looked to the experimental shack. “For what am I needed?” had demanded Hamilton. Herjellsen had said only, “You are needed,” and then left. The experimental shack was dark, save for the light of the black’s lantern, like a flickering pool within the white-painted window. Hamilton wondered if Herjellsen were dead.
After that night, that of the computer error, Hamilton had done little work, but much reading. Herjellsen provided books. Among them were an English translation of Diogenes Laertius, the Ancilla of Pre-Socratic Fragments, translated by Freeman, from Diel’s original translations, Kirk’s book on Heraclitus, Plutarch’s Laves, the autobiography of Benvenuto Cellini, FitzGerald’s second translation of the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam; Harrison’s Prolegomena to the Study of Greek Religion; in German, Nietzsche’s Also Sprach Zarathustra; Whitman’s Leaves of Grass; and the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius.
“You are needed,” Herjellsen had said.
Frightened, Hamilton looked at the fence which encircled the compound.
Hamilton was not permitted beyond the fence.
The fence was to protect the occupants of the compound from the predations of wild animals.
“It is dangerous beyond the fence,” Herjellsen had told Hamilton, and given his orders. Hamilton was not permitted by the blacks beyond the fence.
There were no animals dangerous to men in the vicinity that Hamilton knew of.
She wondered why the blacks were armed.
Hamilton was not permitted beyond the fence.
“No,” had said the black with the rifle at the gate, when Hamilton, testing Herjellsen’s order, had attempted to leave the compound. The black had not been rough. Hamilton was simply not permitted to leave.
It was not necessary for the black to threaten, or resort to his rifle.
Hamilton had looked up at the ebon face.
Frustrated, furious, Hamilton had turned about and returned to the computer building.
That night, at supper, Herjellsen had admonished Hamilton.
“My dear Doctor Hamilton,” had said Herjellsen, “you must not leave the compound. I had thought that was clearly understood.”
“I wanted to take a walk,” had said Hamilton icily.
“It is dangerous outside the compound,” said Herjellsen.
“Very well,” had said Hamilton.
Hamilton stood on the porch of the computer building. No one had emerged from the experimental shack since William had entered.
“You are needed,” Herjellsen had told Hamilton.
Hamilton looked at the high wire fence, slim strands of strung wire, lit in the white light of the great moon.
For what am I needed, wondered Hamilton.
The moon glinted on the wire.
There was a sound at the shed.
One black emerged, and then, between him and William, staggering, Herjellsen.
The two men supported Herjellsen, and made their way across the ‘compound, toward Herjellsen’s small sleeping shack.
“We can move you on a cot,” said William, supporting the short, older man.
“I can walk,” said Herjellsen, pushing him away. Then, too, he pushed away the black. Another black, he with the lantern, stood behind them.
Herjellsen stood unsteadily on the dust of the compound, hunched over with pain. His face was tight, ashen.
“Do not help me,” he warned them.
William and the two blacks, one with a lantern, stood to one side.
Herjellsen saw Hamilton. He straightened up. “Good evening, my dear Doctor Hamilton,” he said.
“Good evening, Professor Herjellsen,” whispered Hamilton.
“Yes,” said Herjellsen, looking about. “It is a good evening.”
Gunther was still in the shack. Hamilton had not seen him come out.
“I think I shall go to my quarters,” said Herjellsen. “I am weary.”
William put out his hand.
“I need no help,” said Herjellsen, sharply.
William glanced at Hamilton.
Herjellsen wished to show no weakness before Hamilton.
“Good-night, Doctor Hamilton,” said Herjellsen.
“Good-night, Professor Herjellsen,” said Hamilton.
A voice within the shed suddenly cried, “Bring the lantern!” Hamilton was startled. It was Gunther’s voice. She had never heard such a cry from him.
Herjellsen did not move, but stood on the dust of the compound. He did not turn to the shed.
The black with the lantern rushed to the shed.
Hamilton waited on the porch.
Herjellsen stood quietly in the compound. William looked to the shed. He seemed frightened.
Gunther’s figure emerged from the shed. He was a tall man, large, broad-shouldered, blond haired, muscular, blue eyed. He was a strong man, hard, lithe, swift. He had much stamina. He enjoyed hunting, and was a superb hunter, skilled, tireless, merciless, efficient. Next to Herjellsen, whom Hamilton regarded as mad, Gunther was rated by Hamilton as the most intelligent in the compound. Gunther’s mind was brilliant. It could be, at times, as sharp and keen as surgeon’s steel, and like that steel, cold and hard; and at times, when he pleased, it could be as sardonic as acid; or, when he wished, as swift and stinging as a quirt in the hands of a horseman. Hamilton feared him. In his presence Hamilton felt uneasy, and small and weak. Before Gunther, Hamilton felt clumsy, and found it difficult to speak. What Hamilton felt, not understanding it, in the presence of Gunther, was the presence of a superior, dominant animal. Gunther was clearly stronger and more intelligent than Hamilton. “He is a bit overawing,” had joked William. Hamilton resented Gunther. Hamilton hated him. William, too, resented him. It was a bond between them, their dislike for Gunther. It was not simply that Gunther was a splendid organism, but that he made no attempt to conceal his superiority. He seemed little motivated by the conventions whereby superior animals sheath their claws and conceal their teeth. Gunther was a lion among men, a blond lion. His eyes made Hamilton angry, and afraid. He looked at Hamilton with such casual, unquestioned superiority, as though Hamilton might have been a servant, and, too, he looked at Hamilton in another way, sometimes grinning, that frightened Hamilton. He seemed so sure of himself, so strong.
“What is it?” asked William of Gunther, who stood, dazed, as Hamilton had never seen him, in the door of the experimental shack.
Hamilton was frightened.
Never had Gunther seemed so shaken. His tall, muscular frame trembled in the doorway.
Then he spoke. “The cage,” he said, “-the cage is gonel”
Herjellsen, Hamilton thought, seemed to smile, and then he began to walk slowly to his sleeping quarters.