Sirens of Titan - Kurt Vonnegut [94]
Salo recalled the subject of conversation only with effort. When he did recall it, it upset him more than ever. The worst possible thing had happened. Not only had Rumfoord found out, seemingly, about the influence of Tralfamadore on Earthling affairs, which would have offended him quite enough—but Rumfoord also regarded himself, seemingly, as one of the principal victims of that influence.
Salo had had an uneasy suspicion from time to time that Rumfoord was under the influence of Tralfamadore, but he’d pushed the thought out of his mind, since there was nothing he could do about it. He hadn’t even discussed it, because to discuss it with Rumfoord would surely have ruined their beautiful friendship at once. Very lamely, Salo explored the possibility that Rumfoord did not know as much as he seemed to know. "Skip—" he said.
"Please!" said Rumfoord.
"Mr. Rumfoord—" said Salo, "you think I somehow used you?"
"Not you," said Rumfoord. "Your fellow machines back on your precious Tralfamadore."
"Um," said Salo. "You—you think you—you’ve been used, Skip?"
"Tralfamadore," said Rumfoord bitterly, "reached into the Solar System, picked me up, and used me like a handy-dandy potato peeler!"
"If you could see this in the future," said Salo miserably, "why didn’t you mention it before?"
"Nobody likes to think he’s being used," said Rumfoord. "He’ll put off admitting it to himself until the last possible instant." He smiled crookedly. "It may surprise you to learn that I take a certain pride, no matter how foolishly mistaken that pride may be, in making my own decisions for my own reasons."
"I’m not surprised," said Salo.
"Oh?" said Rumfoord unpleasantly. "I should have thought it was too subtle an attitude for a machine to grasp."
This, surely, was the low point in their relationship. Salo was a machine, since he had been designed and manufactured. He didn’t conceal the fact. But Rumfoord had never used the fact as an insult before. He had definitely used the fact as an insult now. Through a thin veil of noblesse oblige, Rumfoord let Salo know that to be a machine was to be insensitive, was to be unimaginative, was to be vulgar, was to be purposeful without a shred of conscience—
Salo was pathetically vulnerable to this accusation. It was a tribute to the spiritual intimacy he and Rumfoord had once shared that Rumfoord knew so well how to hurt him.
Salo closed two of his three eyes again, watched the soaring Titanic bluebirds again. The birds were as big as Earthling eagles.
Salo wished he were a Titanic bluebird.
The space ship carrying Malachi Constant, Beatrice Rumfoord, and their son Chrono sailed low over the palace, landed on the shore of the Winston Sea.
"I give you my word of honor," said Salo, "I didn’t know you were being used, and I haven’t the slightest idea what you—"
"Machine," said Rumfoord nastily.
"Tell me what you’ve been used for—please?" said Salo. "My word of honor—I don’t have the foggiest—"
"Machine!" said Rumfoord.
"If you think so badly of me, Skip—Winston—Mr. Rumfoord—" said Salo, "after all I’ve done and tried to do in the name of friendship alone, there’s certainly nothing I can say or do now to change your mind."
"Precisely what a machine would say," said Rumfoord.
"It’s what a machine did say," said Salo humbly. He inflated his feet to the size of German batballs, preparing to walk out of Rumfoord’s palace and onto the waters of the Winston Sea—never to return. Only when his feet were fully inflated did he catch the challenge in what Rumfoord had said. There was a clear implication that there was something Old Salo could still do to make things right again.
Even if he was a machine, Salo was sensitive enough to know that to ask what that something was would be to grovel. He steeled himself In the name of friendship, he was going to grovel.
"Skip—" he said, "tell me what to do. Anything— anything at all."
"In a very short time," said Rumfoord, "an explosion is going to blow the terminal of my spiral clear off the