The Dragon Man - Brian Stableford [71]
Sara frowned in concentration, trying to work out the implications of what the old man was saying. This was the first time she had ever been called upon to ask herself in all seriousness, what might become of her in hundreds of years time.
“But you wouldn’t know you’d changed,” she said, hesitantly. “You’d still be you, even if it wasn’t quite the same you as before. We all change, all the time—but we’re always the same person.”
The Dragon Man shook his head, although his expression was thoughtful. “I know I’ve changed,” he said, quietly. “I know how much I’ve changed...and to tell you the truth, Sara, I haven’t been quite myself for a while, now. I still remember me...but I sometimes wonder whether there’s anything actually left of me but memories.”
CHAPTER XX
Sara thought about what the Dragon Man had said for a moment or two, not knowing how to reply. Then she figured it out. “You tweaked the shadowbats,” she pointed out. “You’re still doing new things.”
The Dragon Man smiled again. “And while I can still make mistakes, I can be certain that I’m still alive and as stupid as I ever was,” he said. There was a hint of hoarseness in his dry voice, but he sounded more cheerful.
“It’s a discovery,” Sara reminded him. “Even if we don’t get the credit, we did it. You and I.”
“And the customer...the boy who wanted the bats fitted, even though his smartsuit was overloaded.”
“Him too,” Sara agreed. “We can all be glad, and proud.”
“I’ll certainly try,” the Dragon Man promised. “You’re right, of course—I was just being melodramatic. My synthetic organs may not have the same capacity for feeling that your real ones do, but I can still be glad, and proud, after my own dull fashion. Lem’s right—no matter how hard the techs try to duplicate the emotional orchestra of hormonal rushes and neural harmonies, the music is always slightly out of tune—but that’s not the whole story. Not that the way I feel, or don’t, is anything I ought to be talking about with a guest, especially a guest as young as you, Sara Lindley. What ought to be exercising our minds, as you correctly observe, is that we’ve made a discovery. It may not lead to anything, but who can tell?”
“I’m sorry,” Sara said, feeling awkward without knowing exactly why. She wondered whether she’d somehow let the Dragon Man down by causing him to say things that he might rather have left unsaid.
“What for?” he said. “You’ve nothing to be sorry about—and you can tell your parents I said so, if they start on you again when you get home. If you hadn’t trapped the shadowbat, we might never have found out what went wrong.”
Frank Warburton set all ten of his fingers to the virtual keypad again, and began tapping, presumably making a record of what he had found. Sara couldn’t help noticing that the old man’s fingers were far less agile than they should have been, given the centuries of practice they’d had.
“I suppose I’d better be getting back,” she said, reluctantly. She had not the slightest doubt that her parents would “start on her” again as soon as she got home, and that the Dragon Man’s assurance that she’d done the right thing wouldn’t be nearly enough to stem the flow of criticism.
“I suppose you had,” the Dragon Man agreed—but there was something in his attitude that rang an alarm bell in her head. He hadn’t turned to look at her as he’d spoken; his eyes were glued to the screen in front of him. His body, propped against the tabletop, was rigid. Sara knew that it really was time for her to leave, and that her parents would not approve of her having stayed so long, but she couldn’t tear herself way from the stool. She watched the Dragon Man typing, hoping to see him relax.
He did relax, but not in a reassuring way. When his body lost its effortful rigidity it sagged against the edge of he bench, as if he couldn’t muster the energy to keep it upright any longer.
This time,