Charles Sheffield: The Mind Pool

“And still they must be coming to Sargasso. The accidents have not stopped. New recruits will be arriving as we are speaking — perhaps they have already arrived. Our hearts break for them. But who will help them? Who will teach them pride, and purpose, and lift them again to humanity? Who? There is no one — except us. And you.”

M-26A did not move, but the bright eyes seemed to cloud over. To return. To deny our destiny. That way lies insanity.

“To go back, and stay there, that might mean insanity.

That is not what we mean. But to go back briefly, maybe once every few years, and help them … and perhaps bring the new guards here …

I cannot offer an answer at once. M-26A lifted itself on tripod legs. I must think about this. I will answer you … tomorrow.

“That is all right. We have been thinking about this for a long time. One other thing.” Ridley was talking to the back of M-26A, as the Construct slid silently across the gravel surface, toward the dark apertures of the sleeping units.

Say it.

“You did not answer our question, whether it is possible to return for a time to the Sargasso Dump.” Ridley was standing straight, but he was no longer at attention. “If it is possible, no matter how difficult it may be, we would like to do it. More than that, if we are to remain human, we must do it. We want you to help.”

Ridley stood, and listened, but M-26A did not speak again. He was quite sure of that.

It must have been only the night breeze of the new world, sighing in his ear, that seemed to whisper, Yes, Master.