Gateway - Frederik Pohl Page 0,73

It wasn't actually food mines. It was, physically, I would say more like the inside of a Five — one of the Gateway ships, you know? Sylvia was in a kind of a tunnel that went off it."

"The tunnel went off?"

"Now, don't rush me into some kind of symbolism, Sigfrid. I know about vaginal images and all that. When I say 'went off,' I mean that the tunnel started in the place where I was and led direction away from it." I hesitate, then tell him the hard part: "Then her tunnel caved in. Sylvia was trapped."

I sit up. "What's wrong with that," I explain, "is that it really couldn't happen. You only tunnel in order to plant charge to loosen up the shale. All the real mining is scoop-shovel stuff. Sylvia's job would never have put her in that position."

"I don't think it matters if it could really have happened, Robbie."

"I suppose not. Well, there was Sylvia, trapped inside the collapsed tunnel. I could see the heap of shale stirring. It wasn't real shale. It was fluffy stuff, more like scrap paper. She had a shovel and she was digging her way out. I thought she was going to be all right. She was digging a good escape hole for herself. I waited her to come out … only she didn't come out."

Sigfrid, in his incarnation as a teddy-bear, lies warm and snuggly in my arms. It is good to feel him there. Of course, he isn't in there. He isn't really anywhere, except maybe in the central stores in Washington Heights, where the big machines are kept. All I have is his remote-access terminal in a bunny suit.

"Is there anything else, Robbie?"

"Not really. Not part of the dream, anyway. But — well, have a feeling. I feel as though I kicked Klara in the head to keep her from coming out. As though I was afraid the rest of the tunnel was going to fall on me."

Out in the holes where the Heechee hid,

Out in the caves of the stars,

Sliding the tunnels they slashed and slid,

Healing the Heechee-hacked scars,

We're coming through!

Little lost Heechee, we're looking for you.

"What do you mean by a 'feeling,' Rob?"

"What I said. It wasn't part of the dream. It was just that — I don't know."

He waits, then he tries a different approach. "Rob, Are aware that the name you said just then was 'Klara,' not 'Sylvia'?"

"Really? That's funny. I wonder why."

He waits, then he prods a little. "Then what happened, Rob?"

"Then I woke up."

I roll over on my back and look up at the ceiling, which was textured tile with glittery five-pointed stars pasted to it. "That's all there is," I say. Then I add, conversationally, "Sigfrid, I wonder if all this is getting anywhere."

"I don't know if I can answer that question, Rob."

"If you could," I say, "I would have made you do it like this." I still have S. Ya.'s little piece of paper, which gives kind of security I prize.

"I think," he says, "that there is somewhere to get. By that I mean I think there is something in your mind that you don't want to think of, to which this dream is related."

"Something about Sylvia, for Christ's sake? That was years ago."

"That doesn't really matter, does it?"

"Oh, shit. You bore me, Sigfrid! You really do." Then I say, "Say, I'm getting angry. What does that mean?"

"What do you think it means, Rob?"

"If I knew I wouldn't have to ask you. I wonder. Am I trying to cop out? Getting angry because you're getting close to something?"

"Please don't think about the process, Rob. Just tell me how you feel."

"Guilty," I say at once, without knowing that's what I'm going to say.

"Guilty about what?"

"Guilty about… I'm not sure." I lift my wrist to look at my watch. We've got twenty minutes yet. A hell of a lot can happen in twenty minutes, and I stop to think about whether I want to leave really shaken up. I've got a game of duplicate lined up for this afternoon, and I have a good chance to get into the finals. If I don't mess it up. If I keep my concentration.

"I wonder if I oughtn't to leave early today, Sigfrid," I say.

"Guilty about what, Rob?"

"I'm not sure I remember." I stroke the bunny neck and chuckle. "This is really nice, Sigfrid, although it took me a while to get used to it."

"Guilty about what, Rob?"

I scream: "About murdering her, you jerk!"

"You mean in