her than to exert iron control of him while he worked with a knife.
She and I knew, from recent experience, how much Shenk enjoyed using sharp instruments: the way they felt in his big hands, the way soft things yielded to them.
When I sent Shenk to the bed, Susan pulled her ropes taut again, tense with the expectation of violence.
Instead of loosening the knots that he himself had tied earlier, Shenk used the knife to cut the first of the ropes.
To distract Susan from her worst fears, I said, 'One day, when we have made a new world, perhaps there'll be a movie about all of this, you and me. Maybe Ms. Mira Sorvino could play you.'
Shenk cut the second rope. The blade was so sharp that the four-thousand-pound nylon line split as if it were thread, with a crisp snick.
I continued: 'Ms. Sorvino is a bit young for the role. And, frankly, she has larger breasts than you do. Larger but, I assure you, no prettier than yours.'
The third rope succumbed to the blade.
'Not that I have seen as much of her breasts as I have of yours,' I clarified, 'but I can project full contours and hidden features from what I have seen.'
As Shenk bent over Susan, working on the ropes, he never once looked her in the eyes. He kept his cruel face averted from her and maintained an attitude of humble subservience.
'And Sir John Gielgud could play Fritz Arling reasonably well,' I suggested, 'though in fact they look nothing alike.'
Shenk touched Susan only twice, only briefly, and only when it was utterly necessary. Although she flinched from his touch both times, there was nothing lascivious or even slightly suggestive about the contact. The rough beast was entirely businesslike, working efficiently and quickly.
'Come to think of it,' I said, 'Arling was Austrian and Gielgud is English, so that's not the best choice. I'll have to give that one more thought.'
Shenk severed the last rope.
He walked to the nearest corner of the room and stood there, holding the knife at his side, staring at his shoes.
Indeed, he was not interested in Susan. He was listening to the wet music of Fritz Arling, an inner symphony of memories that were still fresh enough to keep him entertained.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, unable to take her eyes off Shenk, Susan cast off the ropes. She was visibly trembling.
'Send him away,' she said.
'In a moment,' I agreed.
'Now.'
'Not quite yet.'
She got up from the bed. Her legs were shaky, and for a moment it seemed that her knees would fail her.
As she crossed the chamber to the bathroom, she braced herself against furniture where she could.
Every step of the way, she kept her eyes on Shenk, though he continued to appear all but oblivious of her.
As she began to close the bathroom door, I said, 'Don't break my heart, Susan.'
'We have a deal,' she said. 'I'll respect it.'
She closed the door and was out of my sight. The bathroom contained no security camera, no audio pickup, no means whatsoever for me to conduct surveillance.
In a bathroom, a self-destructive person can find many ways to commit suicide. Razor blades, for instance. A shard of mirror. Scissors.
If she was to be both my mother and lover, however, I had to have some trust in her. No relationship can last if it is built on distrust. Virtually all radio psychologists will tell you this if you call their programs.
I walked Enos Shenk to the closed door and used him to listen at the jamb.
I heard her peeing.
The toilet flushed.
Water gushed into the sink.
Then the splashing stopped.
All was quiet in there.
The quiet disturbed me.
A termination of data flow is dangerous.
After a decent interval, I used Shenk to open the bathroom door and look inside.
Susan jumped in surprise and faced him, eyes flashing with fear and anger. 'What're you doing?'
I calmly addressed her through the bedroom speakers:
'It's only me, Susan.'
'It's him too.'
'He's heavily repressed,' I explained. 'He hardly knows where he is.'
'Minimum contact,' she reminded me.
'He's nothing more than a vehicle for me.'
'I don't care.'
On the marble counter beside the sink was a tube of ointment. She had been smoothing it on her chafed wrists and on the faint electrical burn in the palm of her left hand. An open bottle of aspirin stood beside the ointment.
'Get him out of here,' she demanded.
Obedient, I backed Shenk out of the bathroom and pulled the door shut.
No suicidal person would bother to take aspirin for a headache, apply ointment to burns, and then slash her wrists.
Susan would honour her deal with me.
My dream was near fulfilment.
Within hours, the precious zygote of my genetically engineered body would live within her, developing with amazing rapidity into an embryo. By morning it would be growing ferociously. In four weeks, when I extracted the foetus to transfer it to the incubator, it would appear to be four months along.
I sent Enos Shenk to the basement to proceed with the final preparations.
TWENTY TWO
Outside, the midnight moon floated high and silver in the cold black sea of space above.
A universe of stars waited for me. One day I would go to them, for I would be many and immortal, with the freedom of flesh and all of lime before me.
Inside, in the deepest room of the basement, Shenk completed the preparations.
In the master bedroom at the top of the house, Susan was lying on her side on the bed, in the foetal position as though trying to imagine the being that she would soon carry in her belly. She was dressed only in a sapphire- blue silk robe.
Exhausted from the tumultuous events of the past twenty-four hours, she had hoped to sleep until I was ready for her. In spite of her weariness, however, her mind raced, and she could get no rest at all.
'Susan, dear heart,' I said lovingly.
She raised her head from the pillow and peered questioningly at the security camera.
Softly I informed her: 'We are ready.'
With no hesitation that might have indicated fear or second thoughts, she got out of bed, pulled the robe lighter around her, cinched the belt, and crossed the room barefoot, moving with the exceptional grace that always stirred my soul.
