A Wizard In Absentia

by Christopher Stasheff

  The professor was answering. "Cambridge is kept free of overcrowding, young man, except on football Saturdays. And there is a feeling of freedom, of spaciousness, that no space habitat can match."

  "I concur," Magnus said. "But surely the demands of others are present in any social environment."

  "Yes, but they maintain a certain degree of reserve in an academic setting," the professor began, and was off into paeans of praise for the fellowship of scholars. Beneath his words, Magnus read a dread of intimate relationships, for his familial life had been so stifling that he had not married even once, and had certainly taken pains to be sure he fathered no children. His relationships with women were fleeting, and the only intimacy was that of the body. Magnus felt a surge of empathy, recognizing a maimed soul when he saw one, and identifying with it with such intensity that it shocked him. But battletrained reflexes took over; he pushed his own emotions to the background while he worked within his cousin's mind, inputting reassurance that the other members of the family had adjusted to his absence and had found their own sources of security without him.

  Roger had finished with a description of the pleasures of sitting in the sun on an autumn morning, discussing superconductor theory with his colleagues. Magnus noted the falling inflection and murmured, "Such a web of relationships must be very pleasant, with no one pressing you for involvement."

  "Yes, quite." But the professor frowned suddenly, as though a puzzle in the back of his mind had just been solved. "Rodney's son—then your claim to the succession is as valid as my cousin Pelisse's!"

  "True," Magnus acknowledged, "but her claim is also as valid as mine, and she has the advantage of knowing the situation—and the greater advantage of wanting to stay on Maxima for most of her life."

  "I see." Roger smiled, amused. "You are no more enamored of life on an asteroid than I, eh?" Or of refereeing a convention of madmen, his mind said silently.

  Magnus commiserated, and made sure the older man felt the surge of emotion. "The problem is that Pelisse does not wish the authority."

  "Oh, she will grow into it, by the time she has to assume the responsibility," Roger said breezily. But Matilda contradicted him, rather severely. "That moment could come tomorrow, Roger, or even tonight."

  "Or not for five years, or ten," Roger retorted, all his emotional shields up and vibrating. "Father has excellent medical care, Matilda, and you have informed me that his mind is as sharp as ever. You will pardon me if I do not show undue concern."

  Matilda reddened, but Magnus said smoothly, "It is your due concern that is perhaps appropriate."

  "Indeed." Roger turned to him angrily. "And what concern do you think is due, young man?" His tone said: interloper.

  "That of an advisor." Magnus worked at keeping his posture loose, not letting the tension show. "After all, you have a vested interest in d'Armand Automatons, as well as an academic one, do you not?"

  "Academic?" Roger frowned. "The family business is just that, young man—they apply proven principles in building their robots; they don't experiment."

  Magnus looked up at Matilda in surprise that was only partly feigned. "You don't have a research and development department?"

  "Well, of course," Matilda said, nettled. "They are constantly searching for new ways to apply established knowledge."

  "But not to discover new principles themselves." Roger smiled vindictively. "After all, there's just so much that artificial intelligence can do, and creative thought is really beyond a cybernetic 'brain.' "

  "Which means that it is for you to do the primary research," Magnus interpreted. "Surely you could see that the family has the benefit of that."

  "And the rest of the world! I publish my results, young man!"

  "As is only appropriate," Magnus said smoothly. "Still, you must verify your results repeatedly before you publish, must you not?"

  "Yes." Roger frowned, not seeing Magnus's point. "And if d'Armand Automatons had performed those experiments for you, they would be in a position to investigate applications much more quickly than the rest of the industry."

  Roger looked off into space, mulling the thought.

  "There's some point in that—but Father has never shown any interest in participating in my work." Beneath his words, Magnus caught vivid, fleeting images of loud and angry arguments, of a father's chilly silence at what he perceived as his son's abandonment and rejection.

  "Have you ever asked?" Magnus said quietly.

  "He has not," Matilda said, while Roger was still opening his mouth. "I confess that the idea is attractive—but such experiments would require your physical presence now and again, Roger."

  Alarm flared, and Magnus was quickly calming it with the revelation that three months would never be time for entangling relationships to form again. "I assume that if d'Armand Automatons were to use your discoveries, you would expect some form of royalties."

  "Of course!"

  "But you receive shares in the family business already, Roger," Matilda reminded him. "Your stock in the company has never been alienated."

  Roger turned frosty. "I have never used the proceeds from that stock, Matilda, not since I came to Terra and used some of the dividends to establish myself. They have sat and grown, increasing in number and value."

  "Yes, I know—I do look at the books occasionally," Matilda returned tartly.

  "It would seem to me," Magnus murmured, "that if you accept the family's share, you have some responsibility toward them." This time, the surge of guilt the professor felt was purely Magnus's doing.

  But feel it he did, enough to frown and look more closely at Magnus. "You have some specific proposal in mind, young man."

  "I do," Magnus admitted. "It is simply as I've suggested—that you spend your summers on Maxima, advising the heir on business matters and testing your new hypotheses." He was ready for the surge of alarm, of defensive distancing, and lulled it, soothed it, worked in the thought, again, that three months was too short a time to become enmeshed in a circle of endless demands.

  The professor's face had turned stony, but was softening already into a thoughtful frown.

  "Of course," Magnus said quietly, "during the rest of the year, you would be available for consultation by hyperadio, as you are now."

  "The notion has merit," the professor said slowly. "Of course, for such services, I would expect a greater number of shares in d'Armand Automatons."

  It was quite a change for a man who had virtually said he didn't really care about the money—but Magnus noted the undercurrent of emotion that confirmed his disregard for the family fortune. Above it rode the thought that, by putting matters on a business footing, he would be shielded from personal demands.

  Magnus did not disabuse him of the notion; he merely said to the Countess, "That would seem appropriate."

  "Quite." She was poised, but there was anticipation in her eyes. "Surely we need not wait for your father's death in order to see you again, Roger."

  "Not at all, Matilda—you are perfectly free to meet me here in Cambridge at any time; you know you will be welcome," the professor assured her. "As to this summer—well, I am committed to a graduate seminar, but perhaps I could visit during the short vacation in August."

  "That would be delightful," the Countess said. The slightest of smiles showed at the corners of her lips.

  "I shall have to discuss it with my chairman, of course," Roger said carefully, "but there is at least the possibility."

  Magnus noted that neither of them had said anything specific about how much stock the professor could look forward to receiving. It really didn't matter to them, after all.

  And when the closing amenities had been exchanged and the professor's image had disappeared from above the black square, Matilda turned to Magnus, her face suffused with joy. "However did you manage that, young man?"

  Magnus decided that she didn't really want to know.

  I have observed, Magnus, Fess's voice said. Are you certain your action wa
s ethical?

  Resolving a family dispute, and reconciling a stepmother and stepson? Setting a man on the road to freeing himself from the fear of intimacy that has stunted his personal growth all his adult life? Certainly an ethical deed, Fess!

  About the means, though, Magnus wasn't quite so certain. He had given his cousin emotional assurances that he wasn't sure were true. Moreover, he had altered the thoughts and emotions of a man who was not an enemy, without his knoweldge or consent—and that definitely was unethical, so he did feel rather guilty. Not too much so, though—he had adjusted a neurosis, and had left the man better than he had found him. Besides, he could always plead necessity.

  Then too, Roger had been evading his responsibility—and family was family.

  "It was amazing!" Countess Matilda was flushed with excitement, sitting by the Count's bed and talking to the whole family. "Nephew Magnus spoke very quietly and reasonably, even sympathetically—and Roger saw his point at once!"

  Pelisse stared. "You mean he didn't lose his temper?"

  The Countess colored. "No, and I did not even have to speak sharply with him! Really, your Cousin Magnus is most persuasive!"

  "It is primarily a matter of seeing an equitable solution that is beneficial to all parties." Magnus felt rather uncomfortable under such effusive praise, especially since he knew just how he had done what he had done. "And, of course, such a solution is more easily seen by one who is external to the situation."

  "But I hope you will not feel that you are outside the family!" Pelisse turned a beaming face upon him—and Magnus felt a surge of the selfsame alarm he had felt in Cousin Roger. The tendrils of demand were already reaching out for him, with no compensating benefits. "I will, of course, delight in my name, and my background," he lied. "I am honored to have helped in resolving your problems with the succession—and to know that you can manage quite well without me."

  A look of triumph lit Robert's face, but Pelisse was startled, and the Countess was suddenly pensive. "Surely you do not intend to leave us so soon, young man!"

  "I fear I must." Magnus inclined his head politely. "I have limited time to learn of my background, and have many more courses to run. For example, I believe I will accept Cousin Roger's invitation, so that I may see something of Terra, the source of us all."

  "Laudable." The Countess couldn't really object, if he was visiting family—and reinforcing the miracle he had just worked on Roger. "Surely you will visit us soon after, though?"

  "I look forward to the event," Magnus assured her. Indeed, he could look forward to it so well that he didn't intend to let it happen. "Since I must depart today, I am glad to have been of some slight service to you."

  "Today!" Pelisse cried; and, "No, really!" the Countess said.

  But the Count nodded gravely, and only said, "You must allow us to express our gratitude in some way, young man."

  "I have scarcely made a fitting return to your hospitality," Magnus objected.

  A trace of guilt flitted across Matilda's face, and Pelisse lowered her eyes; they were shamed, for they knew just how insincere their hospitality had been. So did the Count. "You must, at least, have some token from the family, some talisman that will remind you of your roots, and of our gratitude!" He turned to his wife. "My dear, see that the young man is given one of our latest TLC robots, with a selection of bodies and a yacht to house them."

  Matilda nodded, but Magnus stared in alarm, feeling the shadow of obligation. "Surely that is far too generous, Uncle!"

  "You underestimate the service you have done us," the Count said, but Magnus could not help feeling the emotion that fairly blasted from the man—his shame and embarrassment, for he knew very well how they had sought to exploit their guest.

  Magnus realized that if he did not accept the gift, they would find ways to keep after him, insisting on expiating their guilt—but if he accepted this token, they would be able to relax and forget him.

  "Besides," the Count said, "you have told us that you have old Fess and your father's ship, which leaves him devoid of transportation, should he wish to visit us—and even devoid of communication! No, no, we must be able to congratulate him on his hardwon rank, and to thank him for your visit! You really must accept a robot of your own, Nephew!"

  Magnus stilled. It was an alluring prospect, having a robot that had not served five hundred years of his ancestors before him—having a companion that he had won himself, no matter how badly overpaid he might be.

  And after all, what else did the d'Armands have to offer that was really of them?

  Magnus, Fess's voice said, your father has given me to you, and made you my owner.

  But there is merit in what he says, Magnus thought back, and I would feel forever guilty if I deprived Father of you for the rest of his life—especially when an alternative is available.

  He was rather hurt that Fess didn't try to argue him out of it.

  CHAPTER 5

  Ian stepped through, and the panel hissed behind him. He turned, to find only the blank stony surface of the Egg, pitted and rain-washed. He could see no seam. It looked for all the world like a great gray stone again. He turned away, shaking his head and marveling.

  Then he remembered that he was out in the open once more, and that the keeper, or even soldiers, might still be looking for him.

  He ran quickly and lightly to the cover of the nearby woods, trying to move as quietly as he could. He threaded his way between the trees, looking for a path. He found none, but finally saw a glint in the night and heard the warbling of water swirling. He pushed through the underbrush and found a small stream, sparkling in the moonlight and babbling to itself like an idiot. He was thirsty; he dropped his staff, went down on his hands and knees, and drank.

  As he lifted his head, he saw a man sitting across the stream from him.

  * * *

  Magnus stared up through the port beside the airlock, amazed at the size of the ship. "All this, for only one man?"

  "Two, if necessary" Matilda answered, "and for a year or more. It is a home away from home, and has to store food and water for twelve Terran months, as well as a selection of robot bodies for the 'brain,' and everything our experts can think of, for survival on a strange planet."

  Magnus was awed. This close to the ship, it seemed vast, a great golden disk whose rim was twenty feet in the air. Beside it, the converted asteroid that was his father's ship seemed small and inconsequential.

  Then Magnus noticed the cable connecting the two ships. He frowned and was about to ask, but even as he opened his mouth, the cable disconnected from Fess's ship and reeled slowly back into the golden disc, waving like a snake charmer's cobra in the negligible gravity. "Why were the two ships connected?"

  Aunt Matilda looked blank. "Why, I've no idea." Magnus shrugged it off; the matter seemed inconsequential. He gazed up at the huge ship, sitting in golden splendor amid the desolation of the airless asteroid, and felt exalted at the mere thought that it was his ship, now. "It is magnificent!"

  "Not quite as noble as it looks," Aunt Matilda said, amused. "The color is due to a superconducting finish that allows the most effective force—field ever developed, to be erected around the ship with far less energy than ever before."

  "I am glad it has a utilitarian excuse," Magnus answered, "for I will feel sinfully sybaritic in such a craft. What did my uncle term it—a TLC?"

  "That is its model number," Aunt Matilda explained. "It stands for 'Total Life Conserver,' since it is equipped to protect the lives of its passengers in every way known, up to and including cryogenic freezing, if all else fails."

  "Reassuring," Magnus murmured.

  "It has a serial number, of course," Matilda went on, "but it also has a more personal designation, connoting its strength and abilities—Hercules Alfheimer."

  "Hercules Alfheimer?" Magnus stared. Hercules, of course, was the great hero of the Greeks—but Alfheim was the home of the light elves of the Norse. "You don't mind mixing your mythologies,
do you?"

  The Countess's eyes glowed, and Magnus suddenly realized that he'd apparently passed some sort of unexpected test. "Quite so, Nephew," she said. "We try to do that with every new robot, to indicate that it is not restricted to the world-view of any one culture. Naming gives it a more convenient designation than its serial number alone, and one which helps to humanize its behavior."

  Both of which made it seem less intimidating to the humans who had to deal with it, Magnus realized.

  "When it is sold, of course," Matilda went on, "its new owner can change its name to whatever he or she pleases."

  Magnus intended to; the collision of cultures jarred on his sensibilities. "I will treasure it, Aunt. I thank you deeply."

  "Think of us always," she admonished. "Now, if you must leave, young man, you must. Do come again."

  "It shall be a matter of great anticipation," Magnus assured her. "My thanks to you, Aunt Matilda, and to my uncle . . . " He turned to Pelisse and therefore necessarily toward Robert, who stood behind Pelisse with his hand touching her shoulder, still defiant as he stared at Magnus—but forcing a smile now, at least. "Farewell, cousins," Magnus said. "My life is richer for knowing you."

  "Oh, not farewell!" Pelisse was dewy around the lashes. "Say only, 'till we meet again!' "

  "Au revoir, then," Magnus said, trying to make his smile warm. "This has been an unforgettable experience." He reached out to squeeze her hand, then turned away and made his escape into the boarding tunnel.

  He came out into the ship; the hatch dogged itself behind him, and a soft, deep voice said, "Greetings, Master Magnus."

  "I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Hercules Alfheimer." Magnus inclined his head, remembering what his father had told him: Be polite to robots, even if they don't need it—it'll keep you in the habit of being polite to people. Magnus already knew how thoroughly all human beings are creatures of habit.

  "Thank you, Master Magnus," the robot's voice answered.

  " 'Magnus' alone will do," the young man said. "I have no wish to have one call me 'master'; adjust it in your programming."