understand how the idea of all this romantic knight-errantry must appeal to you, but do look at it in perspective. Remember you were told all this by an android—weren’t you? And it’s notorious that when they’re under exceptional strain androids sometimes come up with the wildest notions, isn’t it?”
“I’m beginning to wonder whether androids aren’t better off than I am! At least when they’re trained they’re given a useful job of work to do, and that’s more than I can ever look forward to if I stay here!”
There was an awful icy silence, during which Hornknew sickly that he had overstepped the limits of his grandfather’s already tenuous patience. It was like waiting for the skies to fall.
“Very well,” the old man said at last. “Very well. If that’s how you feel about the advantages I’ve provided for you, I guess you had better leave Earth. And the sooner the better. Rowl! Have a heli brought out and program it for Faraway Field! Since you think androids do more useful work than I or your father, you young devil, I’m going to let you
do
an android’s work for a while! There’s a ship loading a consignment of robots on the field this minute—it’s from Newholme and its crew don’t observe carnival. I was intending to ship an android as supercargo. I’ll send you instead. Don’t interrupt!” he thundered at his son, who was feebly protesting. “If you’d raised the kid better it would never have come to this! He’s going to have to learn the hard way what decent folk think of fools who prefer androids to their own kith and kin!”
So angry he could barely speak, he pointed a quivering arm towards the door.
“Out!” he said thickly. “And
stay
out!”
CHAPTER IX
“H ERE’S WHERE the supercargo bunks,” said Dize, the brawny first mate of the interstellar freighter. He pointed through a door so narrow it was barely more than a hatchway. “Stow your duffle and get back to number one hold to check the cargo manifest. You got twenty-five minutes.”
Obediently, struggling with the one large bag his grandfather had permitted him to bring and finding it almost too large to squeeze through the opening, Horn complied. His face fell as he saw the cramped cabin he had been assigned.
“Don’t look so sour!” Dize grunted. “Android quarters—what do you expect? And you got more room than on some ships I could name. We’ve had ’em in there head and shoulders taller than you, and glad of so much space to stretch out in! Okay—number one hold in twenty-five minutes from now.”
His footsteps receded down the corridor. Horn dumped his bag on the bunk, sat down beside it and buried his face in his hands.
Well, that was that. For better or worse, he was on his own. At least he’d got what he’d asked for, and that was something of an achievement in itself. Few people could boast of having got something out of Grandfather Horn which he’d not at first been willing to concede. He clung to that slender consolation, lowered his hands and surveyed the cabin. It held the bunk he was sitting on—nearly as hard as the bench in Berl’s heli; a locker containing a standard android poncho of coarse burlap and a pair of issue sandals much too small for him; a washbowlwith a pressure tap aimed squarely at the open drain. And nothing.
Realizing with a start that five of his precious minutes had been lost in mooning, he set about stowing his gear as best he could. The locker was full almost at once, and he had to leave the bulk of what he’d brought in the case, which he contrived to slide underneath the bunk. He was still wearing a gaudy carnival rig because he’d taken nothing else away from home with him; he stripped it off and changed into more practical garb.
Over the washbowl there were a few square inches of mirror. Catching sight of himself, he noted that he ought to have a shave; black stubble was disfiguring his cheeks and chin. But in his haste he had picked up a jar of