Aranimas stood. “Such tools as are available will be brought to you. Describe what you need to Rrullf”-Aranimas’s shortened version of the caninoid’s name was almost pronounceable-”and she will bring them to you or take you to them.”
She?Derec cast a surprised glance at the caninoid.Interesting.
“Thank you,” he said to Aranimas, and started to turn away. As he did, a thousand bees settled between his shoulder blades and began to sting him wildly. Gasping, his knees buckling, he grabbed for the edge of the workbench to keep from collapsing on the floor. He did not need to see to know that Aranimas had the stylus trained at the middle of his back.
“Do not make the mistake of trying to deceive me,” Aranimas said coldly as the pain held Derec firmly in its grip. “I may be ignorant of your art, but I am not foolish.”
“I-I-”
“Save your words of apology,” Aranimas said as the bees flew away. “Show me results.”
Doubled over the workbench, Derec turned his head in time to see Aranimas return the stylus to whatever hidden pocket was reserved for it. Clearing the phlegm from his throat, he nodded weakly. “Right, boss.”
When Aranimas was gone, the caninoid’s face twisted into its macabre grin. “ ’Urr lucky Aranimas wants robots so bad. Otherwise I guess ‘u be dead now.”
“Thanks for the cheery thought,” Derec said. “What exactly does he want them for?”
“Can’t ‘u figure? Aranimas wants to replace Narwe with robots. Aranimas iss sick of Narwe crying scenes.”
“Do the Narwe know what he has in mind?”
“Narwe been on best behavior since the boss told them,” the caninoid said cheerfully. “What ‘u need to work?”
But Derec had been thinking about something else. The caninoid was treating him in a way that could only be called friendly, and was the best prospect for an ally aboard the raider ship besides. If they were going to be working together, it was time for Derec to stop thinking of the alien as it. Or even she.
“First things first. I can’t say your name even as well as Aranimas does-”
“Thass pretty low standard.”
“-but I have to call you something. Can you live with Wolruf?”
“Iss not my name, but I know who ‘u mean when ‘u say it.”
“That’s all I wanted. Wolruf, I’ve got some fine print to read. What can you find me to read it with?”
“I get ‘u something,” she promised.
The magnifying scanner that Wolruf came up with was an inspection instrument of some sort. It had a display screen rather than an eyepiece, a fixed focus, and a tiny field of view. But the incident lighting at the aperture highlighted perfectly the fine grooves of the serial number engraving, making up for all the other shortcomings.
With Wolruf peering over his shoulder, Derec scanned the fifteen lines of data. “Do you read Standard, too?”
“No,” Wolruf said. “Tell ‘u a secret-I learn Standard so I not ‘ave to lissen to Aranimas mangle my language.”
Derec laughed, and the sound startled Wolruf. “What I’m looking at is one of the robot’s identification gratings. It’ll tell me several things that will help me fix the damage the manufacturer, the model, the date of initialization, any customization parameters,” he said breezily.
He went on like that awhile longer, loading his explanation with as many technical terms as he could in the hopes of appearing to be open and cooperative while actually explaining nothing. He did not mention that if the robot were from Earth, the grating would also tell who owned it, or that the three cryptic lines of symbols at the bottom of the screen were the programming access codes and the initialization sequence, the keys that would allow him to do more than merely repair the robot, but to alter its programming.
“What does it say?”
“This one is a Ferrier Model EG,” Derec said, scanning. “Customized for valet service.” And personal defense, he added silently. A bodyguard robot. “Initialization date, Standard Year ‘83-”
Then he scanned a few words ahead and was struck dumb.
“What is it?” Wolruf asked. “Is something wrong?”
“No,” Derec managed to say. “The robot was registered on Aurora.”
“That iss one of ‘urr worlds?”
“Yes.”
“Iss that important?”
“No,” Derec said. “Let’s look at the other one.” But it was important, and his hands were trembling as he took the scanner in them and rose from his seat. He remembered Aurora. He remembered the World of the Dawn. Not the things that everyone knew-that it was the first Spacer world and long the preeminent one, that it was home to the highly regarded Institute of Robotics from which most advances in robotic science had emerged.
No, like a ray of light sneaking past the black curtain, Derec remembered Aurora as a place he had been: glimpses of a spaceport, a parklike city, a pastoral countryside. He was connected with it in some way, some way strong enough that the word alone had the power to break through the wall separating him from his past.
At last, he knew something about himself. He had been to Aurora. It was not much of a biography, but it was a beginning.
Chapter 9. Ally
Without a diagnostic board or even a computer at his disposal, Derec had no choice but to activate the robot and rely on its own self-diagnostic capabilities. But before he could get even that far, he had a jigsaw puzzle to assemble.
The headless robot was an EX series, but the differences did not affect the parts Derec needed to borrow to make the EG whole. The active systems-as opposed to the merely structural-of any mass-produced robot were modular and standardized. It would not have been possible to produce them economically any other way. So the kidney-sized microfusion powerpack of the EX was a plug-compatible replacement for the damaged one inside the EG.
But the powerpack’s mounting cradle, which contained the interface for the primary power bus, had also been damaged by the fight which had downed the robot. Regrettably, the cradle had not been designed for field replacement, and it seemed to be attached to every other component inside the EG’s torso-and not by convenient micromagnetic fields. The manufacturer had settled for the less costly alternative of sonic welds.
Lacking the proper tools, swapping the cradles was a challenge. He practiced on the damaged cradle inside the EG, then used his hard-won expertise to transfer the undamaged one into the vacancy. That alone took more than two hours. But when he was done, it took less than two minutes to swap powerpacks.
Unfortunately, that did not end the matter. In all Ferrier models, the basic data library used by the robot was contained in removable memory cubes placed in a compartment just behind its “collarbone.” The robot’s extensive positronic memory was reserved completely for the business of learning from experience.
From the manufacturer’s standpoint, that arrangement meant that the positronic brains did not have to be specialized according to the robot’s function. From the owner’s viewpoint, it meant that their investment was protected against obsolescence or changing needs.
But from Derec’s perspective, it meant trouble. The headless robot had five cube slots, four of them occupied. For the EG, the numbers were seven and five. But the two empty slots and three of the occupied ones had been caught in the same blast that had damaged the power cradle.
There was no repairing them and no replacing them. But what was worse was that Derec was bound to use one of the two functional slots for the standard Systems cube, without which the robot would know nothing about its own structure and operation. He had five cubes packed full of data and logic routines, and he could only use one of them at a time. Eventually he settled on the Mathematics cube, concealing the Personal Defense cube for possible use at some future time.
Derec’s inventory of visible damage to the robot included severed cables that would render the right arm paralyzed and a frozen gimbal on one of the dual gyroscopes. But with power and the working library restor
ed, there was only one truly critical part left to see to: the positronic brain.
In appearance, the brain was a three-pound lump of platinum-iridium. In function, it was the repository for the fundamental positromotive potentials governing the robot’s activity, for the temporary potentials which represented thought and decision, and for the pathways which represented learning.
What Derec was hoping was that the fundamental pathways had not been randomized, as could happen if the brain had been exposed to hard radiation. There was no hope for the robot’s experience base. The backup microcell, used to refresh the pathways while the robot was being serviced, had long since been exhausted and the pathways had long ago decayed. The robot would remember nothing of its previous service. But if the brain was undamaged, it should function normally when reinitiated.
Just like me-
Given the equipment available, the only way to test the condition of the positronic brain was to activate the robot and test it. For obvious reasons, that was dangerous. At one point in the history of robotics, robots had been designed to shut down when they detected any internal error conditions. But several hundred years of progress in robotics design had produced a different philosophy built around fault-tolerance and self-maintenance. He could not be sure what would happen.
By the time he was ready to find out, Wolruf had either grown bored or was obliged to go tend to some other duty. That was a fortunate turn, since when the robot was activated, it would be facing a situation that no robot had ever faced before. It would have to decide whether Aranimas and Wolruf were “human” enough that it was required to protect them and obey their orders.
Since robots were as a rule literal-minded to a fault, it should not have been a problem. Aranimas was clearly an alien, despite his superficially humanoid appearance. Wolruf was even more so.
Those who manufactured robots did not ordinarily limit the definition of a human being, but left it as broad as possible. A power plant worker in a max suit did not look human, but a robot would obey its order. Robots were not, could not be, completely literal. They did not judge merely on appearance. A three-year-old child was human, yet a robot would frequently decline its orders.
It was possible that the programming which permitted those distinctions would find some fundamental identity between the aliens and Derec. If there was any way of preventing that, Derec was determined to do so. Because of the First Law, the robot could not be used against him. But if the robot could be persuaded that the aliens were not entitled to protection under the First Law, he might be able to use the robot against Aranimas.
With some trepidation, Derec pressed the power reset. A moment later, all of the robot’s joints except those in the damaged arm stiffened. Its eyes lit up with a red glow that pulsed rhythmically.
“Alpha alpha epsilon rho,” Derec said, repeating the sequence of Greek letters which had appeared on the ID grating. “Sigma tau sigma.”
There was a brief pause, and then the robot’s eyes began to glow steadily. “My default language is Galactic Standard, Auroran dialect,” it said. “No other language banks are currently available. Is that acceptable, sir?”
Derec broke into a smile. After his frustrations with the robots on the asteroid, it was a pleasure to be addressed civilly again. “Auroran Galactic is fine.”
“Yes, sir. Who is my owner, sir?”
“I am,” Derec said. “You are never to acknowledge that to anyone. But if you ever receive conflicting orders from myself and another, my orders are always to take precedence.”
“Yes, sir. By what name may I call you, sir?”
For some reason, Derec resented having to supply the robot with his meaningless, casually adopted name. “Derec,” he said finally, unable to think of an alternative.
“Yes, sir. To what name would you like me to respond?”
Derec suppressed a bitter laugh. Who am I to tell you your name, when I can’t even tell myself mine? “So long as you are the only one on this ship, Alpha is name enough.”
“Thank you, Derec. During my power-on self-test I detected a number of error states. Would this be a convenient time to review them?”
“In a moment,” Derec said. “Can you scan this compartment?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Are there any spyeyes here with us?”
“I detect no active sensors of any sort, Derec.”
“Good. Listen closely. I need to tell you something about what’s happening. You and I are on board a spaceship populated by hostile lifeforms. These lifeforms are a potential threat to both of us. Until I tell you otherwise, you are to immediately enter a passive wait-state any time we have company or I leave the lab.”
“I understand. You do not wish them to know that I am functional.”
“That’s right.”
“Is it possible that these wait-states will be of extended duration, sir?”
“It is.”
“Then may I ask if there are any problems to which I may devote myself during those periods?”
“I’m sure we’ll find some,” Derec said. “Right now, the problem is getting you in shape. Let’s have the first anomaly off your error list.”
The first that Derec knew of Wolrufs return was when the robot stiffened suddenly and its eyes went black. A few seconds later, the caninoid entered the lab and crossed to where Derec was seated. She stood at Derec’s elbow and peered briefly into the exposed inner mechanisms of the robot, then turned to him. She seemed less animated than she had been earlier.
“Aranimas would like a report on ‘urr progress.”
“You can tell Aranimas that I have reason to hope I’ll have a robot for him in a few days.”
“ ’Ow many days?”
“I don’t know,” Derec said, laying down the pen he had been using as a probe. “I also don’t know how much it’ll be able to do. I’ve replaced a few damaged components. Right now I’m trying to do something with the servo linkages for the right arm, which are really a mess. Was it you people who roughed up these robots, or did you find them this way?”
“Can’t say,” Wolruf said, and headed for the door. “I tell Aranimas.”
“Hold on a moment,” Derec said, standing. “You can also tell him that I don’t work around the clock. I need time to rest and a place to do it.”
“Rest ‘ard to get on Aranimas’s ship,” Wolruf said, gesturing toward the floor. “Sleep ‘ere.”
That was not an entirely unhappy prospect, since Derec had already determined that he had some privacy there. “What about a pillow, some kind of cushion?”
The caninoid made a sort of whistling sound that Derec read as a sigh. “I get ‘u something,” she said, and started to go.
“Am I going to be allowed to eat?” he called after her.
The sigh was a wheeze this time. “I get ‘u something.”
“Tell you what, Wolruf,” Derec said, drawing closer. “Why don’t you show me where the food is kept, so I can get it myself when I’m hungry? That’ll save you some running around on my account.”
Wolruf wrinkled her cheeks in surprise, then frowned. “Aranimas wants ‘u working, not running errands. Thass my job.”
“You’ve got enough things to do without all the extra work I’m creating,” Derec said on a hunch. “If Aranimas makes a fuss, I’ll tell him I insisted. If I’m going to do my best work, I’m going to need to get out of that lab from time to time just to clear my mind.”
Cocking her head, Wolruf considered. “Okay. I show ‘u.”
“Great. Ah-one more thing.” The thought of an alien Personal was an unpleasant one, but he was suddenly aware that there was some urgency. “I have-um-excretory needs. Do you also-ah-is there-”
Wolruf laughed, a sound like purring. “Of course. Come, I show ‘u that, too.”
There seemed to be fewer aliens afoot in the ship at that hour, which started Derec wondering about the sleep cycles observed by the various species aboard. The curiosity stayed in his mi
nd while Wolruf showed him the Personal, identified to him the three foods in the pantry considered safe for him, and escorted him back to the lab. By that time, he was certain that she was fatigued, and when she left him, he was certain that it was for an appointment with a bed.
There was no lock on the lab door. There was no Narwe guard to note his comings and goings. The opportunity was there, if he wanted it. Wolruf would not disturb him. Perhaps Aranimas was now sleeping as well. Derec could scout the layout of the ship, snoop in some of the hundreds of storage bins he had seen.
Or perhaps Aranimas was waiting for a report from Wolruf, and might soon be coming to check Derec’s progress personally. Or perhaps he never slept. Perhaps his mind was structured in a way that he did not need the periodic “dumpings” dreams represented, his metabolism clocked at a steady pace rather than cycling through active and passive periods.
The uncertainty stilled Derec’s impulse to go exploring, at least for a time. Turning to the food he had carried back with him, he gnawed at a few of the thick crackerlike biscuits, ate most of the fatty mottled-blue paste, sipped at the honey juice. Though his taste buds regarded it all with suspicion, none of it alarmed his stomach.
When he was done, his own fatigue was pressing in on him. He placed Alpha in a wait-state, then unrolled the thin cushion in an open spot of floor and stretched out. The cushion did little to make the floorplates less hard. He supposed that Aranimas, slender as he was, would have found it entirely suitable. But Derec turned restlessly from back to side to stomach in a fruitless quest for a comfortable position.
How long had it been since he had slept? Thirty hours? Forty? He had started the day a reluctant prisoner of the robots, and now he was an even more reluctant prisoner of the raiders.I really should go snooping, he thought. He could not let the opportunity pass. Perhaps the absence of a guard was an oversight that would be corrected tomorrow.
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