Then he smiles faintly. "I assume you have good reason for interfering with a guest's freedom of movement."
"Your safety takes precedence."
"I am perfectly safe."
"At the moment."
"What do you mean?"
"This weather pattern has suddenly become more than a little unusual. You seem to occupy a drifting island of calm while a storm rages about you."
"So I'll take advantage of it now and face the consequences later, if need be."
"It is your choice. I wanted it to be an informed one, however."
"All right. You've informed me. Now get out of my way."
"In a moment. You departed under rather unusual circumstances the last time you were here—in breach of your contract."
"Check your legal bank if you've got one. That statute's run for prosecuting me on that."
"There are some things on which there is no statute of limitations."
"What do you mean by that? I turned in a report on what happened that day."
"One which—conveniently—could not be verified. You were arguing that day... ."
"We always argued. That's just the way we were. If you have something to say about it, say it."
"No, I have nothing more to say about it. My only intention is to caution you—"
"Okay, I'm cautioned."
"To caution you in more ways than the obvious."
"I don't understand."
"I am not certain that things are the same here now as when you left last winter."
"Everything changes."
"Yes, but that is not what I mean. There is something peculiar about this place now. The past is no longer a good guide for the present. More and more anomalies keep cropping up. Sometimes it feels as if the world is testing me or playing games with me."
"You're getting paranoid, Aldon. You've been in that box too long. Maybe it's time to terminate."
"You son of a bitch, I'm trying to tell you something. I've run a lot of figures on this, and all this shit started shortly after you left. The human part of me still has hunches, and I've a feeling there's a connection. If you know all about this and can cope with it, fine. If you don't, I think you should watch out. Better yet, turn around and go home."
"I can't."
"Even if there is something out there, something that is making it easy for you—for the moment?"
"What are you trying to say?"
"I am reminded of the old Gaia hypothesis—Lovelock, twentieth century... ."
"Planetary intelligence. I've heard of it. Never met one, though."
"Are you certain? I sometimes feel I'm confronting one."
"What if something is out there and it wants you—is leading you on like a will-o'-the-wisp?"
"It would be my problem, not yours."
"I can protect you against it. Go back to Playpoint."
"No thanks. I will survive."
"What of Dorothy?"
"What of her?"
"You would leave her alone when she might need you?"
"Let me worry about that."
"Your last woman didn't fare too well."
"Damn it! Get out of my way, or I'll run you down!"
The robot withdraws from the trail. Through its sensors Aldon watches Paul drive away.
Very well, he decides. We know where we stand, Paul. And you haven't changed. That makes it easier.
Aldon further focuses his divided attention. To Dorothy now. Clad in heated garments. Walking. Approaching the building from which she had seen Paul emerge on his vehicle. She had hailed and cursed him, but the winds had carried her words away. She, too, had only feigned sleep. After a suitable time, then, she sought to follow. Aldon watches her stumble once and wants to reach out to assist her, but there is no mobile unit handy. He routes one toward the area against future accidents.
"Damn him!" she mutters as she passes along the street, ribbons of snow rising and twisting away before her.
"Where are you going, Dorothy?" Aldon asks over a nearby PA speaker.
She halts and turns. "Who—?"
"Andrew Aldon," he replies. "I have been observing your progress."
"Why?" she asks.
"Your safety concerns me."