3
Midway through dinner, Bob cleared his throat and said, “I was thinking: After all this is over, I think we, or at least some of us, should hunt down Centivert. I mean, his blocked libido and thanatic urges and all that other Freudian claptrap might’ve made him kill people more often than he would have normally, but his diet’s still people. And let’s face it, we’re responsible for getting him to leave his hidey-hole and prowl the world in search of a mate. If he eats people, that’ll be on us.”
Adam looked up at Granite in horror. “I…had not thought of that.”
“Nor I,” said Maggie, equally horrified.
“I had,” said Kukalukl. “I was wondering when the rest of you would catch up.”
“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Adam said, glaring at the jaguar.
“Would it have mattered? We don’t have the time to pursue him right now. We’re on a tight schedule, remember?”
Adam glared at him a moment longer, then sighed and resumed eating his stew. “Yes, I remember.”
“We’ll have to hunt him down,” said Bob.
“We shall,” said Adam.
Maggie glanced up at him, surprised not only by his words but by the conviction behind them. She smiled. Before this journey, Adam never would have concerned himself with such a thing. Bob’s influence—indeed the influence of all of them—had had a profound effect on the previously brooding, self-absorbed patchwork man. It was a change long overdue.
“We’ll need to plan it out really well,” said Bob. “I mean, we nearly got our butts handed to us by that thing. If it hadn’t been for Freud here, most of us probably would’ve been eaten.”
“Yes,” Maggie agreed. She bent around to look at Freud. “Thank you again. Your odd knowledge-system saved us all.”
“Oh, I was merely doing what I am programmed to do,” said Freud. “And I do not mean merely the performance of psychoanalysis on Centivert. As I explained before, I am programmed never to allow injury to human life. In this case, analyzing Centivert permitted me not only to help him but also to prevent him from injuring any of you.”
“Well, you did a remarkable job,” Maggie said. “Your aid has been invaluable. Prior to this, the only robots we encountered were wild, dangerous things. It is a shame there are not more like you.” She cocked her head. “Or are there? I recall your saying when we met that there were eleven other mechanical analysts. Did any of them also survive the Cataclysm?”
“Some did, yes. Others, alas, were less fortunate. Erickson and Skinner were destroyed during the Cataclysm, when part of the Hall of Psychology’s roof collapsed. Maslow was destroyed soon thereafter, hurled off a cliff during an altercation with some robophobes. Several others were unaccounted for in the wake of the Cataclysm. They may have ceased to exist, as did so many other things, or they may have wandered off on their own before any of the rest of us could look for them. I do not know. At this point I can confirm the survival of only myself, Jung, Leary, and Adler, though Adler suffered a grievous head injury from falling debris during the Cataclysm, which left him with various motor-control problems, the most noticeable being a compulsion to turn his head to the side every few seconds to the accompaniment of a most distracting clicking sound. His memory circuits were badly affected as well; in the midst of conversation he would quote random lines from his namesake’s works. A roboticist could have fixed him in less than a day, but in the wake of the Cataclysm none could be found. It is all quite tragic.
“Where did the other surviving analysts get to?” Bob asked. “I mean, why didn’t you guys stay together?”
“We tried. For a short while we traveled about and tried to aid whomever we could, both physically and psychologically. In our own time, most humans were too well-adjusted to require psychological help, and my fellow analysts and I were merely an amusing and educational diversion. But the Cataclysm threw together humans and other species from a wide range of sociocultural conditions, many of which had fostered various neuroses, thus rendering us of great utility. Alas, when we set to work counseling them, we discovered that our theories and methods of treatment were so wildly different that we were, in effect, working against each other. I, for one, did not believe that Jung’s or Leary’s theories were in any way scientifically valid and so I felt compelled to re-treat those they had already supposedly treated. When they learned of this, they felt compelled to undo my treatment—to re-re-treat them, as it were—and so on and so on until the humans gave up on us altogether.
“In the end we decided it was best to split up and go our separate ways. Each of us went in a different direction so as to avoid the possibility of future interaction. I headed southeast and offered the benefits of psychoanalysis to any I considered in need of it, though in most cases those people refused to listen, and that is their right. Indeed, I cannot say I blame them, for in this new world where survival itself is ever in doubt, men have little time to concern themselves with psychological matters, though psychoanalysis would, I am convinced, make their lives vastly better were they to embrace it.”
“I find it fascinating that the mind can be studied and understood in the same manner as the body,” Maggie said. “Someday I would love to hear more about these various theories of human psychology.”
“It would be my pleasure to so enlighten you. Though I warn you, my fellow analysts’ theories are in nearly all cases quite crude and unscientific.”
“No doubt.”
“We should get some sleep,” Adam said, gazing up at the moon, which shone white and round through the latticework of slender branches above them.
“Yeah,” said Bob. He glanced west. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”
Chapter 9
Yoyodyne (Outside)