by Brian N Ball
“And it’s all a thousand years old.” said Khalia. She was bewildered now by the idea.
“And working as efficiently as ever!” Wardle assured her.
Something was troubling Danecki. “That may be so,” he said. “But a thousand years is a long time for any set of machinery to remain unchanged. And when the major systems are activated, we’ll have trouble.”
Knaggs groaned in agony.
“Time isn’t on our side, whichever way you regard matters,” said Mr. Moonman. “Isn’t it a question of weighing up the certainty of Mr. Knaggs’s condition against the relative uncertainties of the installation’s systems?”
The others turned to look at him. He smiled back. His thin gaunt face creased into a caricature of apology. It was like watching a shadow in a sepulcher.
“You have a personal communicator?” Danecki asked Dross.
“No,” said Dross. “And how I regret it now! Mr. Knaggs and I agreed never to carry the wretched things—we abandoned them after several disagreements about working methods.” r
Mrs. Zulkifar was not completely put down. She had been following the discussion, carefully avoiding looking in Danecki’s direction. Now, she addressed herself to War-die: “Brigadier!”
Wardle responded to the icy tone of command.
“Yes, Emma?”
“Isn’t this what you would call the command area? Of the fortification, I mean?”
Wardle was pleasantly surprised by the handsome woman’s appraisal of the cavern. “Yes. Undoubtedly.”
Khalia knew that it was true. The batteries of controls that were faintly stirring with returning life demanded the presence of a dozen sets of guiding hands. The huge blue screen that now rippled with life was waiting to show a battle commander how his enemy’s dispositions lay. There was an air of functional menace about the cavern that had not been present when they were hurled onto the steel floor. The fort awaited a commander.
“And is the machine operational?” Mrs. Zulkifar went on. “Are its communicators effective?”
Khalia realized that Mrs. Zulkifar still hadn’t grasped the point of it all.
Dross said: “Everything seems to be in superb order, Madam. So far as we can see.”
“Then why not use the machine’s own communicators?” Mrs. Zulkifar demanded.
“I thought I’d explained,” said Dross wearily. “If we try to operate any of the systems, we blow ourselves up.”
“Surely not! No!” Mrs. Zulkifar shouted. “I know quite well that you’re wrong, Doctor! Isn’t it true that all robots are subject to the Laws of Robotics? Don’t they carry a program stressing the sanctity of human life?”
Dross shook his head. “You have to believe this, Madam,” he said. “Laws of Robotics! You might as well talk about the love-life of the robot! And the sanctity of human life? No! Mr. Knaggs and I found the prototype of a Confederation robot a few weeks ago. Do you know what was numbered amongst its duties?” He glared at the self-possessed, immaculately-dressed woman. “It was a perimeter guard. It was designed to sniff out all living things that tried to enter the surface base. Everything, humans included. And then kill.”
Wardle coughed. “I think the Doctor’s right,” he said. “We have to assume that the fort is hostile.”
“Only if we alert it,” added Danecki. “And that we must do to get help.”
Khalia heard the dry, racking sounds in Knaggs’s throat. She thought he was dying. “Mr. Knaggs!” she cried out.
He was looking at Dross. His eyes were dull gray-black pools; they stood out against the gray of his face, pools of anguish. Knaggs was trying to speak.
They all heard the bubbling words.
“… try the robot… try…”
“Knaggs! Mr. Knaggs!” Dross cried. He was down on his knees beside the small figure. “If I’d known— you’ve been listening! You know what we’re talking about!”
“You know we have to get help?” Danecki stared into Knaggs’s pain-filled eyes. He was beside Dross. Khalia tried to stop him talking to Knaggs, but he pushed her carefully away. “You know we have to get help before the fort becomes active?”
“Don’t speak!” Khalia cried.
A look of compassion and command from Danecki quieted her. The others craned forward to catch the slightest sound from the dying systems engineer. Even Jacobi, rising for a few moments of anguished consciousness, moved toward the group, affected by their concentration.
“Keep back,” Wardle ordered.
They did so reluctantly.
Knaggs closed his eyes. Formless words bubbled through the froth, too low and too slight for anyone to hear.
“You said ‘try the robot,’ ” Danecki prompted. “Before that you told us not to touch the controls. Move your head if that’s right.”
Mrs. Zulkifar shuddered uncontrollably. Khalia held herself against Danecki’s big shoulder, her hands in Knaggs’s feebly clutching fingers. His eyes opened for a moment, and she could see them surge with life. Then they closed.
He nodded, a slight, barely perceptible movement. More words bubbled through. A moan of pure anguish trailed behind the words as Knaggs strove to draw air into his wrecked lungs; Khalia wondered how long his slight frame could stand the torment. She stared in helpless pity and admiration at the little man. He was desperately trying to put out an understandable sequence of sounds.
Seconds passed without any further attempt at communication. The eyes opened again.
Danecki waited until Knaggs appeared able to focus.
“No,” he said. “I couldn’t understand. ‘Try the robot.’ Which robot?”
The lips moved.
Mrs. Zulkifar began to whimper.
“What do we do?” whispered Khalia.
There was no movement on the dying face. Knaggs was in a region of pain that cut him off from the straining attention of the trapped party. They waited in utter silence. But they could all see the intelligence in the pain-darkened eyes.
He breathed two syllables. Then he was unconscious.
“Well?” Wardle snapped, unable to restrain himself. “What did he say, man?”
Danecki stood up. He looked away from the systems engineer. Khalia followed his look. He was staring at the wrecked green-bronze length of the guide-robot.
“Batty,” Danecki said at last. “Mr. Knaggs said ‘Batty.’ ”
* * *
CHAPTER 7
But, damn it, the robot’s ruined,” wailed Wardle. “Wrecked! Dead!”
“Nevertheless,” Dross told him, “it makes a convincing kind of sense. At least, Mr. Danecki convinces me. I take it that you propose to attempt to restore Batibasaga to some kind of functioning capacity, Mr. Danecki?”
“If I can,” said Danecki.
Wardle touched the inert robot. “It looks a write off to me.”
Dross regarded the green-bronze automaton, with its heat-blasted body. “Mr. Danecki is something of a systems engineer. He’s reasonably conversant with models like Batibasaga, he’s said. In any case, Batty isn’t a truly sophisticated automaton. Not like some of the machines available at Center. When we were allocated a first class machine, we thought we’d get something up to date. But Batty’s not far from being a museum-piece himself.”
Danecki gestured to the inert frame. “I should have thought of it myself,” he said. “As you say, Doctor, it makes a mad kind of logic. Only a superior robot will be able to tackle these robotic systems safely.”
“Then you’ll get us out?” Mrs. Zulkifar asked. She addressed Danecki directly.
“Ill do my best,” he said. As he said it, he saw that Jacobi was conscious. He was glaring fixedly at Danecki, trying to compose his drawn features.
“I heard!” he snarled thinly. “But you won’t escape!” He subsided with a groan.
Danecki disregarded him. When he did move it was toward the charred bulk of the robot.
Khalia willed him to hurry. The fort was stirring with life. There were odd whining
noises from deep within the great, ancient complex. Once, a hollow thudding brought the party to instant attention, a noise of some vast engine grinding into renewed life. The sensor-pads before the big chair wavered about like blind rats, trying to find the hands of long-dead Confederation battle commanders. The huge blue screen pulsated with life.
Knaggs neither saw nor heard. His breathing was ragged. A trickle of blood came from his lips. Khalia wiped the gray thin lips from time to time. How long could he last? Hurry! she willed. And unbidden, be careful!
“I’ll get through to your ship before I try anything else,” Danecki said. “Look in Mr. Knaggs’s pockets. He may be carrying tools.”
There was nothing. Dross searched the raggedly-breathing engineer with trembling, skillful care, but Knaggs had nothing.
Danecki took the Jacobi youth’s ceremonial dagger. Under his hands and the boy’s twisted sneer, it became a tool. The gleaming cortex inside the robotic head soon appeared. “Undamaged!” he said, astonished.
“Thank goodness!” exclaimed Mrs. Zulkifar. “Do your duty, Doctor—you must try to get us out! Your engineer would have wanted that—it must be your first priority to care for your visitors!”
Khalia realized that the woman had condemned Knaggs to death in her own mind; she was speaking of him as though he had already given up the struggle for his life.
No one paid any attention to her.
“It bothers me,” said Danecki. “Look.”
Dross and Wardle watched the delicate, zittering mechanisms within the green-bronze carapace. Khalia looked too, though it meant little to her. In her life, women were not encouraged to become technicians. She saw a rippling pulsation of controlled power drifting silently across an intricate web of circuits. Force-fields glinted around the cortex in a protective skin. She knew that Danecki was badly worried.
“Get it working, man!” Wardle urged. “Send a message —they can have a rescue operation mounted within minutes! Have you all out before nightfall!”
“It’s night outside now,” Dross said. “Not that that matters! We could have Mr. Knaggs tucked away within the hour! You’re right, Brigadier!”
Danecki hesitated.
“What’s troubling you, Danecki?” snapped Wardle.
“Come along!” Dross added. “There’s no damage to the main motor areas. No impairment of the fuel cells—see, Batty can be used!”
“He can be used,” agreed Danecki. “But I want you to listen to me first. All of you. You have to hear this before I put out a call for help.” His eyes swept the anxious, hesitant, hopeful group. “I’m worried about the robot.”
“Forget the robot!” Mrs. Zulkifar snarled. “Think of me—us!”
Khalia could see that Danecki was addressing himself chiefly to Dross.
“The robot’s condition bothers me. You see, it wasn’t put out of action by the fusor. There’s extensive damage to the trunk—the limbs on one side burned off. But the heatgun didn’t penetrate the main shields.”
“Good! Robust piece of equipment! Excellent!” began Wardle. He stopped. “The fusor didn’t incapacitate it? Then what—”
“Yes,” said Danecki. “The fort.”
He let the words sink in. Mrs. Zulkifar was the only one to misunderstand completely. “You mean you’ve wrecked it!” she rasped.
“No,” Dross said. “He doesn’t mean that. If I understand Mr. Danecki correctly, he intends to warn us that the installation here has taken a hand in things. The fort itself has incapacitated Batibasaga.”
“That’s it,” said Danecki.
Dross considered him, the green-bronze shape of the robot, and then the gray-faced engineer.
To Khalia, there was now an unendurable menace in the bright blue steel of the walls. The underground command area crawled with menace.
Dross shrugged his big, fat shoulders. He too looked strained and worried. “We know the possibilities, then,” he said. “We’ve accepted what my engineer told us. We use the robot. But did Mr. Knaggs know that the robot was affected by the fort?”
“Damn it, we don’t know that it has been,” declared Wardle. “It’s only a possibility!”
Mr. Moonman’s words were quiet, scarcely audible. He spoke for everyone, however. “First the robot. Then us? Is that it?”
“So far the fort has ignored us,” Danecki agreed. “I want you all to realize that we don’t know how the major control systems will react once we begin to show our presence.”
There was no answer.
Danecki’s skillful hands soon found what they required. The five tense watchers held their breath. They had not long to wait.
After the long delays, the discussion, the hesitation, and the appalling, drawn out tensions set up by Knaggs’s blood-bubbling words, they were all glad of Danecki’s swift work.
He pointed to a coiled circuit in the robot’s chest. “Use that, Doctor. Speak normally.”
Dross’s message was short and to the point. “Record and repeat this message! Dr. Dross and the tourist party have been trapped in a still-functioning underground fortification beneath the ruined base. Depth unknown, but guessed at two kilometers. One man needs immediate medical aid if he is to live! Alert all ships and repeater stations! Robotic systems record and repeat!”
He paused and the robot’s voice called out in staccato tones from inside the chest cavity: “Your message received by Galactic Center cruise ship—”
Light and noise filled the blue-steel cavern in a burst of frantic power.
Dross bawled, “The fort!”
Danecki flicked the robot into quiescence, knowing that he was too late. Like the others, he turned to the source of the uproar.
The wide blue screen dissolved in a blinding flash of images. Danecki recognized at once the strange white-streaked openness of interplanetary space.
Sunlight streamed from Sol. Reflected light flashed across the huge screen from another source. The background of the Galaxy’s mass of stars faded, so that he could make out what the screen was trying to show to a long-dead battle commander.
Then a tinny voice replaced the incoherent blast of sound. It settled into a calm, even tone. Danecki felt the hairs crawl on the back of his neck. At last, after a delay of a thousand years, the installation was fulfilling its function.
“Target extra-System vessel of unknown design! Stationary range five, one-zero-six, two-eight-nine, Sector Vega-Three X-2! Surface ports clear and missiles running! Two flights judged sufficient! One reserve! Instructions, Commander? Instructions?”
Sensor-pads waved violently. Controls flashed in a dazzling shower of colored lights. There was a strong feeling of total awareness in the command room now.
“What! What’s happening?” gasped Khalia.
“The fort!” Wardle roared back ecstatically, unable to contain his incredulous delight. “It’s attacking—it’s attacking!” Then Wardle was staring aghast at the target.
“No!” screamed Mrs. Zulkifar. “No!”
“Good God!” was all Wardle could say, over and over again. “Good God!”
Danecki went toward the controls. With an almost inhuman effort, he stopped himself from taking the sensor-pads. Instead, he bawled at the screen with an impotent rage: “Abort all missiles! Abort—abort—abort! Target is a friendly ship—a Confederation ship! Abandon the attack!
He tore his hands away from the advancing sensor-pads, which would slip into his hands and allow the information to be punched into attack-computers. The pads were writhing with eagerness, desperately anxious themselves to respond to the impulses of his nervous system, as he—as a Confederation battle commander—ordered more and more missile flights against the supposed attacking fleet. He could do nothing. Nothing would save the ship.
Danecki thought of the surface far above with its small animals and insects. He thought of the great pits blossoming, throwing animals, and insects, as well as soil, trees, rocks, and outlying defensive bastions aside. And then the black missiles str
eaming out with a banshee snarl through the rain, through the gathering darkness and the dense low clouds—far, far out into interplanetary space, with gigantic thrusting energy, out and towards the waiting tourist vessel—the ship which had so unluckily answered his call for help and revealed its position to the vengeful ghosts in the ancient fort!
Wardle joined him as the screen showed the squat bulk of the hyperspace vessel. “Why doesn’t it throw out screens—it could mop up any number of missiles!”
Danecki leapt for the green-bronze robot. At least he could try to warn the Center vessel what was about to happen. “Hyperspace cruiser!” he shouted. “Put out defensive screens—missiles running to you! You are under attack!”
“Won’t the ship answer?” whispered Khalia, horrified. “Can’t it get out of the way?”
They could all see the big vessel hanging like a black rock in the bright interplanetary haze. A cloud of asteroids nodded to it as they watched. Danecki called again, but there was no reply. Nothing came from the wrecked automaton.
The missiles spun into view.
“Nuclear rockets!” said Dross. “Simple expansion engines—explosive warheads. Maybe an ion-engine as booster. And we can’t do a thing to stop them!”
“We can!” Khalia said suddenly. She ran towards the controls which sensed her coming and writhed eagerly towards her.
But Mrs. Zulkifar was quicker. She saw what Khalia intended and attacked her with a viciousness that sent her spinning to the floor. “You’ll—kill—us all! All of—us!” the woman panted, searching for Khalia’s throat. Then she was screaming and wrenching at Khalia in a desperate frenzy, foam dripping from her beautiful red lips.