Limp, the body of Gorrister hung from the pink palette; unsupported—hanging high above us in
the computer chamber; and it did not shiver in the chill, oily breeze that blew eternally through
the main cavern. The body hung head down, attached to the underside of the palette by the sole
of its right foot. It had been drained of blood through a precise incision made from ear to ear
under the lantern jaw. There was no blood on the reflective surface of the metal floor.
When Gorrister joined our group and looked up at himself, it was already too late for us to
realize that, once again, AM had duped us, had had its fun; it had been a diversion on the part of
the machine. Three of us had vomited, turning away from one another in a reflex as ancient as
the nausea that had produced it.
Gorrister went white. It was almost as though he had seen a voodoo icon, and was afraid of the
future. "Oh, God," he mumbled, and walked away. The three of us followed him after a time,
and found him sitting with his back to one of the smaller chittering banks, his head in his hands.
Ellen knelt down beside him and stroked his hair. He didn't move, but his voice came out of his
covered face quite clearly. "Why doesn't it just do us in and get it over with? Christ, I don't know
how much longer I can go on like this."
It was our one hundred and ninth year in the computer.
He was speaking for all of us.

Nimdok (which was the name the machine had forced him to use, because AM amused itself
with strange sounds) was hallucinating that there were canned goods in the ice caverns. Gorrister
and I were very dubious. "It's another shuck," I told them. "Like the ♥♥♥♥♥♥ frozen elephant
AM sold us. Benny almost went out of his mind over that one. We'll hike all that way and it'll be
putrified or some damn thing. I say forget it. Stay here, it'll have to come up with something
pretty soon or we'll die."
Benny shrugged. Three days it had been since we'd last eaten. Worms. Thick, ropey.
Nimdok was no more certain. He knew there was the chance, but he was getting thin. It couldn't
be any worse there, than here. Colder, but that didn't matter much. Hot, cold, hail, lava, boils or
locusts—it never mattered: the machine masturbated and we had to take it or die.
Ellen decided us. "I've got to have something, Ted. Maybe there'll be some Bartlett pears or
peaches. Please, Ted, let's try it."

I gave in easily. What the hell. Mattered not at all. Ellen was grateful, though. She took me twice
out of turn. Even that had ceased to matter. And she never came, so why bother? But the
machine giggled every time we did it. Loud, up there, back there, all around us, he snickered. It
snickered. Most of the time I thought of AM as it, without a soul; but the rest of the time I
thought of it as him, in the masculine … the paternal … the patriarchal … for he is a jealous
people. Him. It. God as Daddy the Deranged.
We left on a Thursday. The machine always kept us up-to-date on the date. The passage of time
was important; not to us, sure as hell, but to him … it … AM. Thursday. Thanks.
Nimdok and Gorrister carried Ellen for a while, their hands locked to their own and each other's
wrists, a seat. Benny and I walked before and after, just to make sure that, if anything happened,
it would catch one of us and at least Ellen would be safe. Fat chance, safe. Didn't matter.
It was only a hundred miles or so to the ice caverns, and the second day, when we were lying out
under the blistering sun-thing he had materialized, he sent down some manna. Tasted like boiled
boar urine. We ate it.
On the third day we passed through a valley of obsolescence, filled with rusting carcasses of
ancient computer banks. AM had been as ruthless with its own life as with ours. It was a mark of
his personality: it strove for perfection. Whether it was a matter of killing off unproductive
elements in his own world-filling bulk, or perfecting methods for torturing us, AM was as
thorough as those who had invented him—now long since gone to dust—could ever have hoped.

There was light filtering down from above, and we realized we must be very near the surface.
But we didn't try to crawl up to see. There was virtually nothing out there; had been nothing that
could be considered anything for over a hundred years. Only the blasted skin of what had once
been the home of billions. Now there were only five of us, down here inside, alone with AM.
I heard Ellen saying frantically, "No, Benny! Don't, come on, Benny, don't please!"
And then I realized I had been hearing Benny murmuring, under his breath, for several minutes.
He was saying, "I'm gonna get out, I'm gonna get out …" over and over. His monkey-like face
was crumbled up in an expression of beatific delight and sadness, all at the same time. The
radiation scars AM had given him during the "festival" were drawn down into a mass of pinkwhite puckerings, and his features seemed to work independently of one another. Perhaps Benny
was the luckiest of the five of us: he had gone stark, staring mad many years before.
But even though we could call AM any damned thing we liked, could think the foulest thoughts
of fused memory banks and corroded base plates, of burnt out circuits and shattered control
bubbles, the machine would not tolerate our trying to escape. Benny leaped away from me as I
made a grab for him. He scrambled up the face of a smaller memory cube, tilted on its side and
filled with rotted components. He squatted there for a moment, looking like the chimpanzee AM
had intended him to resemble.

Then he leaped high, caught a trailing beam of pitted and corroded metal, and went up it, handover-hand like an animal, till he was on a girdered ledge, twenty feet above us.
"Oh, Ted, Nimdok, please, help him, get him down before—" She cut off. Tears began to stand
in her eyes. She moved her hands aimlessly.
It was too late. None of us wanted to be near him when whatever was going to happen,
happened. And besides, we all saw through her concern. When AM had altered Benny, during
the machine's utterly irrational, hysterical phase, it was not merely Benny's face the computer
had made like a giant ape's. He was big in the privates; she loved that! She serviced us, as a
matter of course, but she loved it from him. Oh Ellen, pedestal Ellen, pristine-pure Ellen; oh
Ellen the clean! Scum filth.
Gorrister slapped her. She slumped down, staring up at poor loonie Benny, and she cried. It was
her big defense, crying. We had gotten used to it seventy-five years earlier. Gorrister kicked her
in the side.

Then the sound began. It was light, that sound. Half sound and half light, something that began
to glow from Benny's eyes, and pulse with growing loudness, dim sonorities that grew more
gigantic and brighter as the light/sound increased in tempo. It must have been painful, and the
pain must have been increasing with the boldness of the light, the rising volume of the sound, for
Benny began to mewl like a wounded animal. At first softly, when the light was dim and the
sound was muted, then louder as his shoulders hunched together: his back humped, as though he
was trying to get away from it. His hands folded across his chest like a chipmunk's. His head
tilted to the side. The sad little monkey-face pinched in anguish. Then he began to howl, as the
sound coming from his eyes grew louder. Louder and louder. I slapped the sides of my head with
my hands, but I couldn't shut it out, it cut through easily. The pain shivered through my flesh
like tinfoil on a tooth.
And Benny was suddenly pulled erect. On the girder he stood up, jerked to his feet like a puppet.

The light was now pulsing out of his eyes in two great round beams. The sound crawled up and
up some incomprehensible scale, and then he fell forward, straight down, and hit the plate-steel
floor with a crash. He lay there jerking spastically