He Who Shapes (8 page)

continued to stare at that point in space after he had

withdrawn his hand. Her shoulder-length hair appeared a trifle

lighter than it had seemed on the night they met; today it was

like a fresh-minted copper coin.

Render seated himself on the corner of his desk, drawing up

his world-ashtray with his toe.

"You told me before that being blind did not mean that you

had never seen. I didn't ask you to explain it then. But I'd like

to ask you now."

"I had a neuroparticipation session with Doctor Riscomb,"

she told him, "before he had his accident. He wanted to

accommodate my mind to visual impressions. Unfortunately,

there was never a second session."

"I see. What did you do in that session?"

She crossed her anides and Render noted they were well-

turned.

"Colors, mostly. The experience was quite overwhelming."

"How well do you remember them? How long ago was it?"

"About six months agoand I shall never forget them. I have

even dreamt in color patterns since then."

"How often?"

"Several times a week."

"What sort of associations do they carry?"

"Nothing special. They just come into my mind along with

other stimuli nowin a pretty haphazard way."

"How?"

"Well, for instance, when you ask me a question it's a sort of

yellowish-orangish pattern that I 'see.' Your greeting was a kind

of silvery thing. Now that you're just sitting there listening to

me, saying nothing, I associate you with a deep, almost violet,

blue."

Sigmund shifted his gaze to the desk and stared at the side

panel.

Can he hear the recorder spinning inside? wondered Render.

And if he can, can he guess what it is and what if's doing?

If so, the dog would doubtless tell Bileennot that she was

unaware of what was now an accepted practiceand she might

not like being reminded that he considered her case as therapy,

rather than a mere mechanical adaptation process. If he

thought it would do any good (he smiled inwardly at the

notion), he would talk to the dog in private about it.

Inwardly, he shrugged.

"I'll construct a rather elementary fantasy world then," he

said finally, "and introduce you to some basic forms today."

She smiled; and Render looked down at the myth who

crouched by her side, its tongue a piece of beefsteak hanging

over a picket fence.

Is he smiling too?

"Thank you," she said.

Sigmund wagged his tail.

"Well then," Render disposed of his cigarette near Mada-

gascar, "I'll fetch out the 'egg' now and test it. In the meantime,"

he pressed an unobtrusive button, "perhaps some music would

prove relaxing."

She started to reply, but a Wagnerian overture snuffed out

the words. Render jammed the button again, and there was a

moment of silence during which he said, "Heh heh. Thought

Respighi was next."

It took two more pushes for him to locate some Roman pines.

"You could have left him on," she observed: "I'm quite fond

of Wagner."

"No thanks," he said, opening the closet, "I'd keep stepping

in all those piles of leitmotifs."

The great egg drifted out into the office, soundless as a cloud.

Render heard a soft growl behind as he drew it toward the

desk. He turned quickly.

Like the shadow of a bird, Sigmund had gotten to his feet,

crossed the room, and was already circling the machine and

sniffing at ittail taut, ears flat, teeth bared.

"Easy, Sig," said Render. "It's an Omnichannel Neural T & R

Unit. It won't bite or anything like that. It's just a machine, like

a car, or a teevee, or a dishwasher. That's what we're going to

use today to show Eileen what some things look like."

"Don't like it," rumbled the dog.

"Why?"

Sigmund had no reply, so he stalked back to Eileen and laid

his head in her lap.

"Don't like it," he repeated, looking up at her.

"Why?"

"No words," he decided. "We go home now?"

"No," she answered him. "You're going to curl up in the

corner and take a nap, and I'm going to curl up in that machine

and do the same thingsort of."

"No good," he said, tail drooping.

"Go on now," she pushed him, "lie down and behave

yourself."

He acquiesced, but he whined when Render blanked the

windows and touched the button which transformed his desk

into the operator's seat.

He whined once morewhen the egg, connected now to an

outlet, broke in the middle and the top slid back and up,

revealing the interior.

Render seated himself. His chair became a contour couch

and moved in halfway beneath the console. He sat upright and

it moved back again, becoming a chair. He touched a part of

the desk and half the ceiling disengaged itself, reshaped itself,

and lowered to hover overhead like a huge bell. He stood and

moved around to the side of the ro-womb. Respighi spoke of

pines and such, and Render disengaged an earphone from

beneath the egg and leaned back across his desk. Blocking one

ear with his shoulder and pressing the microphone to the other,

he played upon the buttons with his free hand. Leagues of surf

drowned the tone poem; miles of traffic overrode it; a great

clanging bell sent fracture lines running through it; and the

feedback said: ". . . Now that you are just sitting there listening

to me, saying nothing, I associate you with a deep, almost

violet, blue . . ."

He switched to the face mask and monitored, onecinnamon,

two leaf mold, three deep reptilian musk . . . and down

through thirst, and the tastes of honey and vinegar and salt,

and back on up through lilacs and wet concrete, a before-the-

storm whiff of ozone, and all the basic olfactory and gustatory

cues for morning, afternoon, and evening in the town.

The couch floated normally in its pool of mercury,

magnetically stabilized by the walls of the egg. He set the

tapes.

The ro-womb was in perfect condition.

"Okay," said Render, turning, "everything checks."

She was just placing her glasses atop her folded garments.

She had undressed while Render was testing the machine. He

was perturbed by her narrow waist, her large, dark-pointed

breasts, her long legs. She was too well-formed for a woman her

height, he decided.

He realized though, as he stared at her, that his main

annoyance was, of course, the fact that she was his patient.

"Ready here," she said, and he moved to her side.

He took her elbow and guided her to the machine. Her

fingers explored its interior. As he helped her enter the unit, he

saw that her eyes were a vivid seagreen. Of this, too, he

disapproved.

"Comfortable?"

"Yes."

"Okay then, we're set. I'm going to close it now. Sweet

dreams."

The upper shell dropped slowly. Closed, it grew opaque,

then dazzling. Render was staring down at his own distorted

reflection.

He moved back in the direction of his desk.

Sigmund was on his feet, blocking the way.

Render reached down to pat his head, but the dog jerked it

aside.

"Take me, with," he growled.

"I'm afraid that can't be done, old fellow," said Render.

"Besides, we're not really going anywhere. We'll just be dozing

right here, in this room."

The dog did not seem mollified.

"Why?"

Render sighed. An argument with a dog was about the most

ludicrous thing he could imagine when sober.

"Sig," he said, "I'm trying to help her learn what things look

like. You doubtless do a fine job guiding her around in this

world which she cannot seebut she needs to know what it

looks like now, and I'm going to show her."

"Then she, will not, need me."

"Of course she will." Render almost laughed. "The pathetic

thing was here bound so closely to the absurd thing that he

could not help it. "I can't restore her sight," he explained. "I'm

just going to transfer her some sight-abstractionssort of lend

her my eyes for a short time. Savvy?"

"No," said the dog. "Take mine."

Render turned off the music.

The whole mutie-master relationship might be worth six

volumes, he decided, in German.

He pointed to the far corner.

"Lie down, over there, like Eileen told you. This isn't going

to take long, and when it's all over you're going to leave the

same way you cameyou leading. Okay?"

Sigmund did not answer, but he turned and moved off to the

corner, tail drooping again.

Render seated himself and lowered the hood, the operator's

modified version of the ro-womb. He was alone before the

ninety white buttons and the two red ones. The world ended in

the blackness beyond the console. He loosened his necktie and

unbuttoned his collar.

He removed the helmet from its receptacle and checked its

leads. Donning it then, he swung the halfmask up over his

lower face and dropped the darksheet down to meet with it. He

rested his right arm in the sling, and with a single tapping