“I wanted to explore the world,” he replied. “Everyone told me that there was only desert beyond the city, but I wanted to make sure for myself.”
The eyes of Seranis were full of sympathy and even sadness when she spoke again:
“And was that the only reason?”
Alvin hesitated. When he answered, it was not the explorer who spoke, but the boy not long removed from childhood.
“No,” he said slowly, “it wasn’t the only reason, though I did not know until now. I was lonely.”
“Lonely? In Diaspar?”
“Yes,” said Alvin. “I am the only child to be born there for seven thousand years.”
Those wonderful eyes were still upon him, and, looking into their depths, Alvin had the sudden conviction that Seranis could read his mind. Even as the thought came, he saw an expression of amused surprise pass across her face-and knew that his guess had been correct. Once both men and machines had possessed this power, and the unchanging machines could still read their masters’ orders. But in Diaspar, Man himself had lost the gift he had given to his slaves.
Rather quickly, Seranis broke into his thoughts.
“If you are looking for life,” she said, “your search has ended. Apart from Diaspar, there is only desert beyond our mountains.”