By Stephen Goldin
A misplaced vintage of technology fiction.
Birk Aaland is a political outcast from Earth's tyranny, and has been residing for years on a planet inhabited completely by way of robots, ever due to the fact that his send crashed here.
Now one other send has crashed, and there's back a unmarried survivor—a lady who's eager to warn Earth of an alien invasion.
But Birk is completely proud of his present exile—until a coincidence intervenes, inflicting every one of them to reassess their lives and their overall existence.
"The tale profits an emotionality that justifies calling Goldin an artist, now not in basic terms a writer." —Tom Easton, Analog Magazine
Originally released 1981 by way of Doubleday.
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Extra info for A World Called Solitude
Is ... is that wise? There might be complications. ” “I am assured that such a thing is most unlikely. The medical robots are bringing over all the monitoring equipment they will need to measure her progress, as well as any emergency gear, but those things are purely precautionary. What the woman needs primarily is rest so that her body has time to repair itself. ” Birk walked over to one side of the room and looked at himself in the mirror. As he looked, the horror of his situation seemed to compound itself.
The difference was subtle, but unmistakable. “I… well, it all feels different, somehow. ” “No, I haven’t,” she answered stubbornly, her lower lip going into its all-too-familiar pout. She spread her arms apart and stepped back a pace so he could see her full length. “Here I am, all naked and willing. ” She jumped onto the bed and looked up at him. ” Birk could feel his desire fading fast. “Why, Reva? ” “I’m not doing anything” she said, wiggling her hips on the bed. ” He recognized that tone all too well.
Her muscles, even those not directly injured in the crash or cut through during surgery, were stiff from long disuse. She found, though, that by moving slowly and carefully she could look around herself and get a good picture of her surroundings. She was in a hospital. There was no disguising the institutional nature of the place. The pale, sterile walls and the sharp smell of disinfectant were the same everywhere. Well, it only makes sense that I’m in a hospital after that crash, she thought. I should count myself lucky it’s not a mortuary.