Android Karenina (5 page)

In her family’s eyes he had no ordinary, definite career and position in society; yes, he had his patch of rough land in the country, but like all pit-operators he was ultimately a functionary, proudly mining his soil on behalf of the Ministry, which owned all the Russian groznium beds; while his contemporaries by this time, when he was thirty-two, were already one a colonel, and another a robotics professor, another director of a bank, or Vice President of a Division, like Oblonsky. But he (he knew very well how he must appear to others) was a country gentleman, occupied only in extraction and excavation and smelting; in other words, a fellow of no ability, who had not turned out well, and who was doing just what, according to the ideas of the world, is done by people
fit for nothing else.

The mysterious, enchanting Kitty herself could not love such an ugly person as he conceived himself to be, and, above all, such an ordinary, in no way striking person. He had heard that women often did care for ugly and ordinary men, but he did not believe it, for he judged by himself, and he could not himself have loved any but beautiful, mysterious, and exceptional women.

After spending two months in Moscow in a state of enchantment, seeing Kitty almost every day in society, into which he went so as to meet her, his circuits (to employ the crass expression) went haywire: he abruptly decided that it could not be, and went back to the country. But after several months . . .

“No! No, please—”

This was the voice of the Janus’s wife.

“We confess. We have done it. My husband and I. We released the koschei at St. Catherine Square . . . Thursday last. It was us! Please—”

“This, madame, we were already aware,” said the Caretaker in command of the troop of state robots, casually brushing a speck of dirt from his gleaming golden uniform. Meanwhile a second cord had writhed forward from a second compartment in the 77’s bulky torso, and attached itself to the other side of the man’s temples. Again electricity flowed from within the 77, along the deadly conduits of the cords, and into the Janus’s skull. His body lifted off the ground, his feet rattled like empty cans, and then he went slack.

As Levin and Socrates looked on, the gold-uniformed Caretaker shouted an order at the 77, and the old man was lifted by the massive man-machine like a sack of potatoes, and tossed bodily into the river, while the crowd of peasants cheered lustily.

“Master?”
came the cautious inquiry from Socrates’ Vox-Em, when all was concluded and the troop of 77s had disappeared.

“Never fear, old friend. My stomach is strong enough to bear witness to the cost of safety for Mother Russia. Still . . . rather an ill omen
for my undertaking in the city.”

Levin sighed as he rose from the café table, and bid Socrates to rise with him. He could not leave without completing his quest. After spending two months alone in the country, he was convinced that his feeling for Kitty was not one of those passions of which he had had experience in his early youth; that this feeling gave him not an instant’s rest; that he could not live without deciding the question, would she or would she not be married to him, and that his despair had arisen only from his own imaginings, that he had no sort of proof that he would be rejected. And he had now come to Moscow with a firm determination to make an offer, and get married if he were accepted. Or . . . he could not conceive what would become of him if he were rejected.

The body of the Janus bobbed past them, floated down the river, and away.

A
T FOUR O’CLOCK
, conscious of his heart hammering like a maltuned Class I sleep-waker, Levin stepped out of a hired sledge at the skating park, and turned along the path to the frozen mounds and the skate-maze, knowing that he would certainly find her there, as he had seen the Shcherbatskys’ carriage at the entrance.

It was a bright, frosty day. Rows of carriages, sledges, drivers, and policemen—not 77s, just workaday Moscow II/Policeman/12s in their cheerful bronze weather-coating—were in the approach. Crowds of well-dressed people, with hats bright in the sun, swarmed about the entrance and along the well-swept little paths between the little houses adorned with carving in the Russian style. The old, curly birches of the gardens, all their twigs laden with snow, looked as though freshly decked
in sacred vestments.

Levin walked along the path toward the skate-maze, while angular Socrates, programmed to dampen his master’s anxiety when it grew too frenzied, droned in his ear:

“You mustn’t be excited. You must be calm. Be quiet, be quiet, be quiet!”

But the more Levin tried to heed this warning, and keep himself composed, the more breathless he found himself. An acquaintance met him and called him by his name, but Levin did not even recognize him. He went toward the elaborate interlacing paths of magnetized track that made up the skate-maze, heard the familiar electric purr of skates gliding above its surface and the sounds of merry voices. He walked on a few steps, and the skating ground lay open before his eyes, and at once, amidst all the skaters, he knew her.

He knew she was there by the rapture and the terror that seized on his heart. She was talking to a woman at the opposite end of the ground, both ladies hovering just above track level, their skates set on neutral as they conversed. There was apparently nothing striking either in Kitty’s dress or in her attitude. But for Levin she was as easy to find in that crowd as a rose among nettles. Everything was made bright by her. She was the smile that shed light on all around her. In that moment, it was to Levin like
she
was the Eye in the Tower, keeping loving watch over all Moscow.

“Be quiet-be calm-be quiet-calm-quiet-calm
. . . ,” Socrates repeated over and over in his ear.

“Is it possible I can go over there on the tracks, go up to her?” he murmured. The place where she stood seemed to him a holy shrine, unapproachable, as if encircled by a moat of radiant liquid groznium, and there was one moment when he was almost retreating, so overwhelmed was he with terror. With Socrates’ help, he made an effort to master himself: People of all sorts were moving about her! He too was permitted to come there to skate! He walked down, for a long while avoiding looking at her as at the sun, but seeing her, as one does the sun, without looking.

AMIDST ALL THE SKATERS WHO HOVERED ELECTROMAGNETICALLY ATOP THE TRACKS, KITTY WAS AS EASY TO FIND AS A ROSE AMONG NETTLES

On that day of the week and at that time of day people of one set, all acquainted with one another, used to meet on the skate-maze. In skates with razor-thin, magnetized blades, revelers navigated the miles of interweaving tracks, the positive charge of the maze surface gently repelling the positive charge of the skates, so everyone glided along, elevated precisely one quarter inch above the track. There were crack skaters there, showing off their skill: happily they whooshed forward, weaving their way across the metal maze, greeting each other gaily, leaping up with bold tricks, skating forward and (when the track vectors were reversed by the II/Skatemaster/490) skating backward.

There were, too, learners clinging to chairs with timid, awkward movements, and elderly noblewomen skating slowly, leaning for support on their Class IIIs. All seemed to Levin an elect band of blissful beings because they were here, near her. All the skaters, it seemed, with perfect self-possession, skated toward her, skated by her, even spoke to her, and were happy, quite apart from her, enjoying the capital ice and the fine weather.

She
was in a corner, and turning out her slender feet in their high boots with obvious timidity, she skated toward him.

“Be calm! Be calm becalmbecalmbecalm . . . ,”
urged Socrates.

As she approached, a young boy skating down a track some distance away pitched head over heels, tumbling abruptly off the track and onto the frozen ground. This kind of accident was most unusual, even for the most unsteady skaters, given the self-correcting mechanisms built into the magnetic-repulsion skate technology. Konstantin Dmitrich had no time or inclination to ponder this event, had he even noticed it; his eyes, along with his heart, were focused only and entirely upon the slim pleasing figure of Kitty Shcherbatskaya.

“Have you been here long?” she said, giving him her hand and nodding pleasantly to Socrates.

“I? I’ve not long . . . yesterday . . . I mean today . . . I arrived,”
answered Levin, in his emotion not at once understanding her question. Directly behind where they were talking, a stout middle-aged man flew off the track and onto the ground, just as the boy had, landing with an audible
thump.
“I was meaning to come and see you,” Levin continued, and then, recollecting with what intention he was trying to see her, he was promptly overcome with confusion and blushed.

Before he could recover his composure, suddenly, without warning, Kitty’s body jerked violently backward and flew down the track like a rag doll hurled by a willful child. In the space of an instant, she was a dozen yards away, her body accelerating at an alarming rate from where Levin and Socrates stood, astounded. Worse, she was flying toward another skater, a mustachioed Moscow dandy, who was mysteriously shooting forward as rapidly as Kitty was speeding backward.

“Socrates!” shouted Levin desperately. “They shall collide!” and the Class III launched himself forward, his long springy legs telescoping open to become still longer as he leapt forward toward the impending collision. The bearded yellow machine-man, his massive bristle of springs and cogs bobbling, caught Kitty about the waist, pulling her off the track just before the mustachioed man would have caromed into her.

All over the maze, similar scenes of havoc unfolded. Some skaters flew backward down the track, others forward, while still others were stuck in place, gyrating violently in their skates. No one, it seemed, was any longer in control of his own feet; the electromagnetic whims of the skates, or of the track, or of both together, had taken control. As Levin watched, an old matron, whom he had seen moments earlier, plodding steadily forward on the track reserved for slower skaters, rocketed forward at a dizzying speed until she was hurled entirely off the course, over the side of a hill and down a snow-crusted embankment.

After satisfying himself that Kitty was out of danger, Levin ran about the perimeter of the skate-maze, saving those he could with a series of flying tackles that intercepted the terrified skaters and flung them off the grid. Socrates sprinted off in the opposite direction and did his part as
well, plucking from his beard a powerful handheld destabilizer and using it to short-circuit the magnetic force in patches along the track, disrupting its power long enough to let skaters jump to freedom.

“UnConSciya,” said Levin gravely to his Class III when they reconvened at the entrance to the park, where Kitty Shcherbatskaya sat beneath a snow-dusted aspen tree, shaken but unhurt.

“Who but they?”
Socrates agreed bitterly. None but the rogue scientists in the so-called Union of Concerned Scientists had the technological ability or the anarchic spirit to launch such a terrible attack. Frustrated by the slow pace of scientific progress, even in the face of all that had been accomplished since the discovery of groznium, the futurists who had quit the government service and established UnConSciya were hellbent on bringing down the Ministry at all costs.

Today, mercifully, the chaos was short-lived; already, Levin heard the klaxon bell of the Tower ringing out as troops of 77s marched in. The wounded wailed, here and there a broken body lay in the snow, and those who had emerged unscathed were upset and terrified, exactly as the terrorists of UnConSciya wanted them to be.

In the aftermath, Levin and Kitty stood panting next to each other, recovering their breath. He wrapped her in his coat, and then, summoning his courage, Levin signaled Socrates into Surcease and grabbed at an excuse to say something, anything that might lead him back to that declaration which even now, after such chaos all around, threatened to burst from his lungs with more violence than any UnConSciya attack could ever muster.

“I didn’t know you could skate, and skate so well,” he said to Kitty.

“Your praise is worth having. The tradition is kept up here that you yourself are the best of skaters,” she said. For a moment, then, both were silent, lowering their eyes respectfully as a corpse, wrapped in rough burlap, was loaded onto a carriage.

After a discreet pause, Levin replied simply: “Yes, I once used to skate with passion; I wanted to reach perfection.”

“You do everything with confidence, I think,” she said.

“I have confidence in myself when you are near me,” he said, but was at once panic-stricken at what he had said, and blushed. And indeed, no sooner had he uttered these words, when all at once, like the sun going behind a cloud, her face lost all its friendliness, and Levin detected the familiar change in her expression that denoted the working of thought; a crease showed on her smooth brow.

“Is there anything troubling you? Which is to say, besides . . .” He indicated with a meaningful gesture the sad scene lying on the skate-maze before them. “Though I’ve no right to ask such a question,” he added hurriedly.