The Superb Home© Edward Rodosek
"Sir, please put a red chip into the slot, if you don't mind.” The entrance door was talking with a precise, sweet woman's voice.
The old man glared angrily at the red eye of the sensor. “Why should I do that? I'm not a visitor; I live in this home-I've only taken a turn in the park!”
"I'm sorry, sir. In that case--would you mind telling me your entrance cipher, please? If you've forgotten it, you can find it on your wristband, sir.”
“I'm not wearing that stupid band of yours; I'm allergic to all plastic products. Come on, open that door; I can't stand out here all night!”
“What's the matter, Ralph?” said a familiar voice behind him. “Do you have a problem?”
The old man turned around and gazed into Gregory's broad, reddish face. “Oh, you're here, thank God. This damned door won't let me in without that damned entrance cipher. Are you wearing your wristband?”
“Of course, Ralph, take it easy.” Gregory leaned his face to the little black net on the doorjamb and said: “ZLP-241.”
The row of chromium-plated horizontal bars spun a quarter circle, allowing Gregory to enter, but the next row of bars hindered Ralph as he tried to follow his friend.
‘A red chip or your entrance cipher, please, if you don't mind.'
In a rage, Ralph hit the metal bars and regretted it right away. “I'll go upstairs for your wristband,” offered Gregory, gazing at him through the bars like a lawyer at the accused. “You just wait for me here. Where do you keep it?”
“I don't know. Wait a minute-it should be somewhere on the window-sill. Thank you, Gregory.”
Gregory was his true friend, thought the old man. As a matter a fact he was his only friend here in ‘Superb Home', the best in luxurious homes for senior citizens. He'd sketchily known Gregory from before, and it was Gregory who had persuaded Ralph to join him in the Superb Home. For long minutes the old man was stamping his feet in front of the door in the chilly November air, rubbing his stiff hands.
“Ralph.”
“Gregory! What is it? Couldn't you find it? I was convinced I'd put it on that–”
“No, it isn't that. Your door won't let me in without a red chip. Have you got any on you? I've only green change.”
***
The old man went toward the bathroom and automatically reached into his pocket for a chip; but then he recalled the entrance to the bathroom was free as long as he didn't need anything extra there. Then he undressed, put four green chips in the slot and four paper towels came out of the machine; towels were cheaper than a hot air drying. For another three green chips his hand got a spoonful of liquid soap. For a while he hesitated, and then he put into the slot just one green chip, for ninety seconds of cold shower. During all that time, the old man convulsively gritted his teeth in defiance of the icy water and tried to think about the valuable red chip he'd saved by not having a warm shower.
In the main hall, Mrs. Summers was playing bridge with three partners and whimpered each time she got a good card. Gregory was sitting a few chairs on. His absent, empty look showed he'd spent a costly blue chip on ‘ sweet dreams' , a popular drug for lonely people. Two slender old women-the twin sisters whose names Ralph was forever mixing up--followed some endless soap opera series on a large holovisor set.
Ralph chose a chair in one of the corners for a short nap. He put a green chip into the slot and a cushion fell with a clap . Two more green chips provided him with a low footstool and a pillow.. For a while he fidgeted on his chair, trying in vain to find a comfortable position for his aching back. The piercing laugh of Ms. Summers chased away his hopes of sleep and the suffocating air forced him to cough.
After a time, he gave up and went outside.
“Good evening, Mr. Morgan.”
The old man automatically returned a greeting even before his shaky consciousness put the man in the orange uniform in the proper place. Of course--this was Theodore, the gardener in the Superb Home and the most informed chatterbox Ralph knew. He listened absently to the usual gossip about the residents and the latest local events. The thoughtful old man didn't even notice when Theodore said goodbye to him and went to the main entrance of the Superb Home.
Ralph's evening walk on the narrow path brought him close to the posterior wall of the complex. Through one of the cellar windows, Ralph saw two men sitting at a table playing cards. He recognized the janitor's back and in front of him sat the gardener, Theodore. An irregularly-formed dish was lying at the janitor's elbow. As the old man watched, the janitor stood up and turned round. Ralph paled with astonishment--the janitor had no face at all. In its place was a mess of minute electronic chips, an interlacing of thin wires and two horrible eyeballs without the eyelids. In confusion, the old man took a step backwards and almost fell. He had the uneasy feeling of having done something indecent or forbidden. It took some time for Ralph to collect his thoughts. Well--the janitor was obviously a human-like robot, an android. And when the janitor wanted, he simply took off his face coating. So what? It was Theodore's right to play cards with an android, although the old man didn't know there were androids with such a superbly humanoid guise. Ralph felt a bit uneasy when he turnedslowly back toward the entrance door, his wristband tightly clenched in his fist.
***
The chip-changing machine in the lobby swallowed the old man's retirement card with a metallic crack and poured out a handful of colored chips. The card crept slowly out. Two more holes had been punched into the card--eight of them in all. Ralph knew that after ten holes the machine wouldn't return the card at all-and today was only the sixteenth of December. That meant from now on there would be no expensive meals, no beverages between meals and no unnecessary spending of chips for small conveniences until the end of the month. Prior to his admittance to the Superb Home, the concept of having to pay for absolutely everything was alien to him. But now, only half a year later, it came naturally. Ralph recalled his first , mostly instructive, talk with the manager of the Superb Home. As a matter of fact, he didn't talk with her in person but just with her 3-D image on a holovisor set.
At the appointed time, Ralph knocked on the door and entered her office.
“Come in, Mr. Morgan! Here's a cozy armchair for you. Make yourself comfortable, please!”
The old man sat down and gazed at the faultless image of the managers' face.
“Mr. Morgan!” She paused, as if waiting for her visitor to understand her introductory words. “ I assume you've read our brochure and that it thoroughly explains the principles of management here at The Superb Home . Do you still remember anything from it?” She was waiting patiently and kindly smiling at Ralph Morgan.
“Of course I do. I'm old, but there's nothing wrong with my memory.”
“I'm glad to hear that. Please, remember-- equality is the basic principle in the Superb Home. She made another meaningful pause. “The same principle is valid for everyone and everything. Each of our dear guests has totally equal opportunities to choose what he wants or what he needs–he just has to pay for it. As you surely know by now, in our home there are no lumps sums, no false solidarity or decantation of money from one person to another. Cash-and-carry, always and for everybody. Do you understand that?”
He nodded to her. “Excellent.”
The old man had a feeling she would somehow stretch her hand out of the holovisor and give him a candy for a correct answer. “If you're aware of that principle, I'm sure all other matters will be settled without much trouble. Have a nice day, Mr. Morgan.”
***
The old man was sitting on the porch in a special compartment his nephew had reserved for both of them. Two glasses of the costly drink Freshness stood untouched on the coffee table between them. His nephew was respectful and polite to him, but the old man couldn't overlook his repeatedly glancing at his watch.
“Well... Do you need anything, Uncle?”
Both of them were aware of how ridiculous that question was. There was nothing that was impossible to buy in the Superb Home. “Maybe something for your personal amusement? Some digital games, 3-D musicals on holodisks, or perhaps a micro walkman--one of those you simply put into your ear?” The old man shook his head and remained silent for a while. Then he brought up his head and his eyes danced. “Bring me my book about the bald eagle.”
His nephew suddenly appeared unhappy. “Dear Uncle, you know superbly well that would be a serious violation of home rules. It's forbidden to bring anything unhygienic, anything that can't be disinfected effectively into the Superb Home!”
The old man stubbornly pursed his lips. “My book isn't dirty. I wrote it myself, and I have the author's copy at home. It's brand-new--I haven't lent it to anybody yet.” To whom on earth could he lend it at all? Nobody cared about it anyway apart from him. “Besides, I could pay for disinfecting myself,” he added triumphantly.
His nephew gazed at him with bulging eyes. “I can't believe you would sacrifice so much of your monthly pension to pay for ultraviolet irradiation--at least a couple of minutes for each page! And that monograph of yours has how many pages--two hundred I presume?”
“Oh, nearly three hundred--including the pictures.”
“There you have it. For that sum of money, you could pay for at least ten thousand pages on the computer microreader, including your book! Why do you want the book, anyway?”
The old man glared stubbornly at his nephew. “I need it.” How could he explain to his nephew why he needed this particular book? How could he make it clear to anybody what this old book still meant to him, after all these years? He knew how curious this sudden impulse seemed--the need to hold once more the vanishing traces of his life's efforts in his hands. Those efforts which had remained as fruitless as his own marriage.
Unintentionally, Ralph's thoughts wandered into the past. He recollected the twenty-two years of his marriage to the quiet, gentle, always understanding Frieda.
She never complained about his many absences when he traveled to various out-of-the-way places. She had always been there for him--late at night when he'd returned half-frozen from his windy and icy lookouts. Frieda was the only person who believed in him when he, enraged, contradicted the statements of many distinguished scientists who had proclaimed the bald eagle had definitely become extinct some decades ago.
At last, some day in October, he'd traced a male and two female bald eagles--one of them had built her nest in the wild, unapproachable environment of the North-East Rocky Mountains .
“What... What did you say?” asked the old man, feeling that somebody was shaking his knee.
“Hey, Uncle!” His nephew was seemingly in a hurry to leave and his voice was clearly impatient. “Didn't you hear the ringing? Visiting time is over and five minutes from now the exit barrier omes down. If I'm late for that, I have to pay a penalty. I'd rather pay to get that damned book of yours disinfected. You'll get it the day after tomorrow.”
They shook hands, politely, smiled kindly at each other and said goodbye. Both of them said the usual parting words. They were empty sentiments that neither could recall a few minutes later. *** Despite the dense snowflakes that were falling from the clouded sky, Ralph Morgan sat out along the main garden path to catch some fresh, piercing air. Suddenly he noticed the gardener Theodore, who was, surprisinglyunusually, pretending not to see him. Theodore was jerking his left leg strangely and suddenly he had a forced cough that seemed to crackle. When Theodore marched off hastily and Ralph noticed some sparks coming from the gardener's left ankle. The air stank of scorched rubber.
The old man puzzled over this extraordinary event for some time, but couldn't come to a reasonable conclusion. Finally, he shrugged and continued his walk. After a while, a movement high above his head attracted his attention.
Yes--that bird was undoubtedly a hawk. A hawk--a near relative of an eagle!
The old man's heart leapt with joy and he felt an enthusiasm that he hadn't sensed for a long time. An elegant predator with unbelievably sharp eyes and a wingspan that allows it sail magnificently, buoyantly, through the air-almost motionless, yet always on the lookout. Obviously hawks still hunted, although not as often as in the past, when they used to fly in pairs. Like all other larger birds, hawks were becoming rare.
It was the usual tragic story; grains full of pesticides; agrarian rodent animals nourishing themselves with such grains but still surviving in some way; the bird predators subsisting on rodents but during the nesting they mostly crushed their own eggs because of the pathological weakness of the shells. And the sentimental old man gazed with his tired, tearful eyes at the disappearing ruler of the sky and grieved over the loss of the shadows of his youth, long past.
The vanished bird reminded Ralph Morgan of a sad time several decades ago. He recollected the twenty-two years of his marriage to the quiet, gentle, always understanding Frieda. She never complained about his many absences when he, as young, enthusiastic ornithologist, traveled to various out-of-the-way places. She had always been there for him--late at night when he'd returned half-frozen from his windy and icy lookouts.
Frieda was the only person who believed in him when he, enraged, contradicted the statements of many distinguished scientists who had proclaimed the bald eagle had definitely become extinct some decades ago. And then, at last, some day one October, he came back bearded and unwashed for days, stuttering and out of breath, and shared with her his almost unbelievable fortune. He'd finally succeeded in finding a nest of the nearly exterminated bald eagle and--after long weariful waiting--managed to steal one of three eggs.
The old man smiled nostalgically when he recalled the endless hours of guard-duty next to the glass incubator with the stolen eagle's egg in it. With quiet pleasure, he remembered his quickened heartbeat when the little one had begun to peck at his jail walls.
About twenty minutes later, the little one finally came out completely, stretching his beak, exhausted from the struggle. Ralph had named the young one Jack. His wife and he had intended to name their first male child Jack--the boy they'd been expecting so eagerly, but who'd never been born.
But several weeks later Ralph's foolish assistant had wrongly read a decimal point from the computer and had given Jack an overdose, ten times the proper amount of medicine against molting.
After Ralph had buried Jack's tiny carcass under the rockery, he also buried his silly hopes of rescuing the bald eagle from extinction. The later observations from the helicopter discovered the abandoned nest with two eggs in it and a few weeks afterwards some boy scouts found a female eagle drowned in a birch bundle in the nearby pool. All Ralph Morgan's optimistic expectations turned out to be wrong; his mad dreams had crept away once and for all.
Then his dearest Frieda died unexpectedly. Before long after that Ralph retired from all his professional and other public activities. In those weeks, two new, deep wrinkles from his eyes to the corners of his mouth marked his face. Ralph Morgan had slowly come to be considered a screwball. During those months, he had emaciated; his lips had become tightly compressed and his hook-nose jutted out of his face even more markedly than before. One day the old man overheard somebody's casual remark about his likeness to an eagle.
After he looked at himself in a mirror, he had sadly to agree that this remark hadn't been so far-off the truth. *** It was one week before Christmas when the receptionist's sweet voice called Ralph Morgan to the videophone in the lobby. He entered the cabin and saw his nephew's round, embarrassed face.
“I've spoken with the manager of the Superb Home, Uncle. She's told me it's possible to let you out on Christmas Day-on my guarantee, of course.”
The old man didn't respond. He was anticipating his nephew's next words. . “If you decide to visit us… I could pick up you on the Christmas Eve… so you could celebrate it with my family and me. What do you say?”
The nephew's words were coming out of his mouth hesitatingly, so Ralph politely, but decisively, refused the invitation. The relief on his nephew's face was obvious. He promised to call his beloved Uncle before the holiday; then the videophone image faded back to black.
*** Ralph Morgan was just returning from the dining room, frowning because of the distasteful taste of the synthetic sauerkraut that lingered in his mouth. He hated it; yet, it was fairly inexpensive.
When he was next to the slightly open door of the twin sisters' living room, he heard their sniveling quarrel. He could never remember which of them was Gwen and which was Elisa. The only difference between them was a mole that one of them had on her face. But which one? He felt some embarrassment at such an intrusion on their privacy, so he quickened his pace. Suddenly he heard the loud thump as a heavy object fell onto the floor. and the desperate cry of one of the old maids. He hesitantly knocked at the slightly open door. When a woman's face appeared in the slit, he politely asked her if everything was all right. She glanced shyly along the empty corridor and gaspingly reassured Ralph they were both okay. Her face was bewildered and pale so he suspected the truth of her words. But that was, after all, no concern of his; so, he shrugged and went off to bed.
The next morning only one of the twin sisters came to breakfast--the one without the mole. She told the other residents that her sister wasn't feeling well so she'd decided to stay in their room. A few moments later, the loudspeakers called her to the consulting room. Maybe she didn't close the door, or the manager had spoken a bit more loudly to her because of her partial deafness--whatever it was, Ralph overheard indistinct snippets of their conversation “... but it was my module, not hers! ”
After a while, the sister left the consulting room, her face mottled with tears. For the rest of the day she sat wide-eyed in her usual chair, making no attempt to watch the holovision . That evening Ralph was sitting in the lobby with his beloved book, ‘ The Last of the Bald Eagles', in his lap for a long time gazing absently at the same page. He knew it must have been after eleven o'clock since the main lights were already off; so it had been necessary to put a green chip into a slot every quarter of an hour to turn on the light again. One of the twin sisters passed close by and he plainly saw she had a mole on her face. It was the sister who had taken to her bed earlier--clearly she was feeling better. But where was her inseparable sibling? It was hardly credible this time that she wasn't well.
The next morning the same scene repeated itself at breakfast , and all the following meals. Again and again either one or the other of the twins appeared, in regular alternation, each time taking an extra meal from the canteen. But they never appeared together. Ralph was curious, but stolidly decided that older people had the right to be a little odd.
Maybe he, Ralph Morgan, also seemed a bit eccentric to the others. All the more so since he'd expounded to the others about his beautiful hawk. Mrs. Summers had then remarked that a hawk was a cruel predator, which murdered charming rabbits and defenseless pigeons. She said it'd be best if all such beasts would be shot. *** Ralph Morgan closed the door of the surgery in which he'd just finished his biannual medical examination. His check-up had been conducted by the hologram of a silver-haired, smart looking doctor with glasses. According to the opinion poll, this was the image that inspired the most confidence. The old man was puting his clothes on in the dressing room when the loudspeaker called out the janitor, who doubled as a messenger boy. They met at the doorway. Ralph sat down on the bench in the lobby, as it was nearly the time when the signal for the lunch would sound.
When the janitor came out of the surgery with a thin folder in his hand. Suddenly, the videophone in the lobby began to ring and the janitorput the folder on the bench close to the old man and answered the call. Ralph peered down at the folder and noticed a sheet of paper peering out from under the beige card. He moved to put it back into the folder, but then he caught sight of the big typewritten letters: SUBJECT MORGAN .
The old man had never before in his entire life read somebody else's post. Yet, that odd title bearing his name disturbed him. Subject--indeed! He stealthily looked around and saw the janitor, still over at the videophone, arguing agitatedly with someone. Ralph took his glasses out of his pocket. A long time ago, he'd picked up the knack of reading quickly--a single second for a whole line--and just enough of that skill was still accessible to him now.
“Dear Mr. Beck... our adaptability experiment seems to have proven successful... the subject is fulfilling most of our expectations ... the costs are within the estimated limits... his relative demands an extra payment for his service... I warmly recommend further experiments at least to a smallest reliable sample of three subjects .. yours sincerely...”
Ralph's hands trembled as he returned the paper to the folder. He was angry. They were experimenting with him ! As if he were a guinea pig. Damn them!
After a while, he firmly decided to think over the deceitful affair and then to consult Gregory about iwhat he'd learnt. Gregory was a retired lawyer so he would surely be able to counsel him soundly. And if they determined there was something unseemly happening, he'd sue the Superb Home for all they were worth. ***
After dinner Ralph sat in an armchair, absorbed in thought about the many strange events that had occurred in the past few days. Suddenly, all the unsorted fragments fused and joined into a logical pattern.
Yes--that was the only possible explanation of the mysterious events over the last few days . The manager was the first person he'd imagined was an android--the more so because he'd never met her in person. She was far too correct, too settled, too superb to be a human being. The janitor with his removable face was undoubtedly android, too. His friend Theodore, the gardener, was almost certainly an android who'd had some serious trouble with the wire meshing in his leg. And so were the twin sisters who'd had to use the only motion module available alternately because they'd smashed the other! For heaven's sake! Who--of all the others around him in the Superb Home was–?
To assure himself that all of his suppositions were solid facts and not just his fantasies he had to prove that he wasn't paranoid. That evening Mrs. Summers wasn't sitting in the lobby on her chair yet, as usual. Ralph took out the needle that he always carried with him neatly stuck into the edge of his jacket--one never knew when a quick sewing fix would be needed. At that moment, Mrs. Summers turned up and charmingly waved to him with her plump arm. Ralph walked over and pretended he was fascinated with the card game she was playing. He placedhis trembling hand on the back of her chair. Oh, God. What sort of excuse could he invent if he was wrong--what if she felt the prick?
He clenched his teeth and then very softly poked Mrs. Summers' shoulder, all the time waiting for her painful scream. Still, she didn't react at all so he decided to repeat the experiment--just as Mrs Summers leaned back suddenly. The old man watched in horror as the needle slid full length into her soft back! But Mrs. Summers was still smiling happily; she was holding excellent cards in her hands. The old man's heart throbbed wildly--she was undoubtedly an android and Ralph suspected that many of the guests and staff at Superb Home were also androids.
The old man felt a shudder of fear at that monstrous thought.
He had to tell Gregory about this right away! It was possible the two of them were the only real human beings here! Thank heaven he'd known Gregory before they moved to Superb Home--he was sure he could trust him. He should talk to Gregory at once about that S ubject Morgan fax--about the fact the management of the Superb Home was abusing him for some illegal, criminal experiment without his knowledge! The old man hurried to the exit and walked along the garden path as fast as he could.
In the distance, he noticed a small fire beside the path. Obviously Theodore had decided to burn some of the garden waste. Gregory, with his back towards Ralph, was warming himself by the fire, stuffing tobacco into his pipe. As the old man approached, Gregory crouched down and started to dig through the glowing embers with his bare hand. Nonchalantly, he chose a red-hot piece of charcoal and lit his pipe with it.
The old man stepped back in shock.
Oh, my God, he thought--Gregory too! Now Ralph recalled how persuasive Gregory had been about the comfort and luxury of the Superb Home from the first moment he'd got acquainted with him. Gregory was undoubtedly involved from the very beginning.
Gregory turned and greeted him cheerfully, with the same joyful smile on his face as always. Ralph gaped at his friend's hand, but he couldn't detect any trace of a burn.
The old man was confused, embarrassed and, most of all, frightened. His entire world had just collapsed and buried him under it. He was lost for words. During Gregory's talkative babble, he just nodded now and then. Ralph's mouth was dry but his hands were unpleasantly moist. Finally, he gathered enough strength to set out for the Superb Home main complex. Despite his shaking legs, he firmly declined Gregory's kind offer to walk him to the entrance.
What now? At first, Ralph was struck with panic. Then he discarded three or four alternatives of what should--or what could--he try to do.
To escape? Nonsense. Where to? Everyone he knew and love was gone. His wife was dead and so were all his old friends and most of his former colleagues. He had no children and no living relatives except his perfidious nephew. There wasn't any place where he could go. His house was sold and any room rent was to high for his pension.
Try to get help? From whom, for heaven's sake? Androids were not forbidden by authority and their basic rights were almost equal than human's. They weren't a threat to people who could like or dislike them at their choice. It was enough and too much to drive the old man to despair. There was no way out.
After all, thought Ralph, why should he take any steps at all? And what's the sense of further ruminating? He was almost eighty, far too old to change the rest of his life.
*** The Christmas decorating of the main hall of the Superb Home had begun immediately after lunch. The happy residents were hanging gaily colored paper ornaments and shining plastic trinkets on the walls and uder the ceiling. All were meant to decorate the magnificent pine tree sitting in the corner of the hall.. A spirit of joy pervaded the whole atmosphere. Wrinkly old women were climbing the low ladders, grinning happily and showing their expensive false teeth. Senior gentlemen in high spirits were helpfully supporting the ladders and handing each other half-empty bottles. Mrs. Summers gave a loud shriek every time Gregory patted her fat backside. Gwen and Elisa--the repairers had obviously done their job at last--had not dared to climb a ladder. They preferred the floor, and stayed there handing decorations up to the others. Theodore and the janitor were working on the electric installation, dragging big bundles of wires along the floor. Finally, the lively residents pushed aside all the chairs and arranged them along the walls, clearing a wide dance floor. In one corner of the hall there was a great round table with a huge bowl on it. Everybody knew that bowl would later, just before the manager's arrival, be filled with egg-nog.
Suddenly, a voice from the loudspeakers announced that the management had decided to give all dear guests of Superb Home a nice Christmas present: it wouldn't be necessary to pay for that delicious traditional drink this evening! Just imagine that! The grateful residents applauded loudly and enthusiastically.
***
“Are you sure, you want to go up on to the terrace? ”
“I'm sure,” said Ralph Morgan into the little dark net on the doorjamb.
“You know, at this time of year you can't do anything particular on the terrace. As you know, sir, there's been a heavy snowfall during the night and the janitor hasn't had time to shovel all that snow away yet. ”
“I don't mind the snow. I'm wearing a warm jacket and I wish simply to breathe some fresh air and look around from above.”
“My duty is to ask you, sir, if you are sure to have at least one green chip for the return ride with the elevator. You know the regulations...”
“I've plenty of chips left, thank you. I've put a green chip into the damned slot of yours so I demand that you unlock this door. I mean now-- while there's still some daylight left.”
The lock made a creaking sound and the old man entered the elevator.
On the terrace, the snow fell in great, dense flakes clung to his hair and woolen jacket. He headed slowly toward the edge of the terrace, heavily shuffling through the ten inches of snow. On the parapet, several stand-mounted binoculars were installed. He chose one, carefully wiped both lenses with his handkerchief, and then he put a green chip into a slot. The binoculars clicked on, the number 180 appeared on the stand and began to count backwards.
Through the lessening daylight of the December afternoon, Ralph comfortably checked the whole horizon, but he saw only an indistinct whiteness. He aimed the binoculars lower to see the surrounding countryside. He didn't know what he was looking for; also, he didn't expect to find anything but the endless empty whiteness.
In the distance, he could see a large, well-cultivated farm with many high pillars and a chicken wire fence. He started to count the pillars aimlessly, like a small child... five, six, seven... Suddenly he noticed something dark on the top of one pillar, so he swung the binoculars back. There was a click, and the shutter clicked back over the lenses. His three minutes was up.
The the old man searched with his hands, stiffened with cold, in his pockets, found another chip and put it into the slot. He found the pillar again and, a painful groan escaped from his throat.
They'd killed it...
In cold blood they'd murdered his beloved hawk! And then they'd fastened it with wire to their damned pillar as a warning and, above all, as a symbol of their triumph. They'd destroyed the poor animal for it hadn't been able to adapt itself.
It'd disturbed them, those unfeeling bastards, because it had been unique, the only living creature among all those machines. It had been a harmless, fascinating creature close to Ralph, One he could understand without words. The triumph of the new, better, modern, electronic era was coming unstoppable and irrepressible. The perfect high-tech era, in which all living creatures had become undesired and even disturbing.
Is this the world in which he wanted to live further?
The old man wiped his eyes and, tightly clenching his teeth, thoroughly searched all his pockets. Resolvedly he threw all the coloured chips over the parapet into the deepness. After a while, he collected enough strength to stagger tediously to his bench in the middle of the terrace, heavily shuffling through the snow, and collapse, powerless, on it.
In this magnificent new time, a human being had become a troublesome atavism.
And he, Ralph Morgan, an elderly, queer admirer of birds, was as unsuited to that new period as the dinosaurs had been to a sudden change in climate . . He could not adapt himself to the new conditions of his surroundings--as the bald eagle couldn't adjust to the poisons scattered by people and their machines, by androids and robots, by cyborgs and clones, by automatons and computers...
The new, modern epoch was coming and trampling over everything that could not adapt or withdraw in time. The perfect new epoch which he, Ralph Morgan, didn't want anything to do with. His life was driving to a close. Why should he cling further to his life at all? As it seemed thus ended his journey. ***
The Christmas celebration was in full swing. The booming of the newest hit songs mixed with the vivacious shrieks of laughter of the happy residents of the Superb Home in a perfect new era in a perfect world. Through one of the windows, somebody fired a rocket that burst into a thousand glowing sparks.
The slowly fading luster of the rocket lit up a lone human figure covered with a thick layer of snow, sitting motionless on a bench in the middle of the terrace. The furrowed face with bushy eyebrows above the peacefully closed eyes appeared for just a moment out of the darkness. His expressive face, with a large, aquiline nose, was covered with thousands of bald snowflakes. He looked just like a lurking bald eagle.
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