What the Mutatis possessed now were generic pods that did not display any individuality or variety. They all looked virtually the same, including their interiors and amenities, which often differed in authentic, natural podships. The clones had primitive access hatches and rough, archaic interiors, more like the insides of caves than the interiors of spacecraft capable of faster-than-light speeds. Not that any of the natural podships were luxurious; far from it; they did, however, offer some basic amenities that were lacking in the clones—such as benches, tables, and stowage areas for luggage.
So far, the Mutatis had met with no success testing the lab-pods. Several attempts to guide them and ride in them as passengers had been disastrous, resulting in crashes that killed everyone aboard, or in vessels that drifted aimlessly and had to be rescued by chase ships.
In addition, using rocket boosters, the laboratory-bred pods had been shot into space. From instinct, perhaps, the pods always accelerated beyond what the Mutatis wanted and reached such high speeds that they left their boosters behind and disappeared into space. Out of twenty-four such attempts, none of the lab-pods had arrived at the intended destinations on Mutati fringe worlds. They had a serious guidance problem, and all efforts to steer them precisely had met with failure. The artificial podships were like wild rockets shot by children in backyards.…
Emerging from the gyrodome, the Zultan was disappointed. Inside, God-on-High had appeared before him in a vision, telling him the guidance problem could never be solved. He’d experienced visions before, and had no idea that many of them were psychic influences from the Adurian gyrodome, altering his decision-making processes. He also didn’t know that his research scientists were similarly influenced by minigyros they used, keeping them from ever figuring out how to control the lab-pods. The clandestine HibAdu Coalition didn’t want any more important merchant prince planets destroyed, because they were slated to be prizes of war for the secretly allied Hibbils and Adurians.
Unaware of the layered plots enfolding him, Abal Meshdi went to the lab-pod development facility, and commanded them to make a ship ready to carry an outrider in a schooner, fitted with the torpedo doomsday weapon.
“The ship will be guided by God-on-High,” the intensely devout Mutati leader announced. “If our Demolio is meant to hit the target, it will.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
All things in life have a mathematical property to them: Everything you perceive by any of your senses, and everything that occurs to you in the apparent privacy of your own mind. No one can escape the numbers, not even in death.
—Master Noah Watanabe
From an observation ledge, Giovanni Nehr watched a machine manufacturing and repair facility inside one of the largest caverns in the underground hideout. He knew that Thinker had perfected some of these methods on the planet Ignem, but mostly the machines had engaged in repair operations on discarded robots there. Gio had served there himself, dressed in the very armor he wore now. Thinker was beside him now, a dull-gray metal box that only moments before had clattered shut… one of the cerebral robot’s many turtle-like retreats into his inner self.
Directly in front of the shuttered robot a mist in the shape of a Human being formed in the air. But it was so faint as to be indiscernible to the eyes of any sentient race. Certainly Gio had no chance of seeing it at all. But the entity that drove the image saw him and Thinker, and absorbed information about them. The mist drew closer to Thinker, and swirled around him, like a spirit from another realm.…
On such a distant world as Ignem, it had been difficult for Gio to obtain the raw materials needed for new robots, particularly those rare elements required for the internal workings of sentient machines—elements that were closely guarded by industrial and political forces. Still, Thinker had found a niche by locating discarded robots around the galaxy that contained those elements, machines that he transported by podship and put back into service.
At Ignem, the sentient robots had been able to manufacture some new items, especially a popular computer chip that they sold around the galaxy. This brought in a nice stream of revenue, but had not had much of an impact on the overall market for new sentient machine components, which were dominated by the Hibbils on their Cluster Worlds.
Now, in the subterranean tunnels and caverns of the Guardians, the machines were doing something more advanced. With access to more raw materials and exotic components on the wealthy, mineral-rich planet of Canopa, they were actually manufacturing new sentient machines, in their entirety. This didn’t have the efficiency of a Hibbil facility, but it was working well enough, and Thinker was innovating many of the manufacturing and assembly methods himself. He even had a prototype all-in-one machine that was designed to process raw materials through a hopper, convert them internally, and spit out a wide variety of finished components and products, somewhat in the manner of a hibbamatic. But the prototype wasn’t working very well yet.
Thinker did have a real hibbamatic machine that Subi Danvar had obtained, also designed as an all-in-one production device by the Hibbils. But the Hibbil unit had not worked properly from the beginning, and would not hold any of the adjustments that the robot technicians tried to make to it. Thinker had learned afterward that it was a cheap model of the device, with inferior components and design shortcuts. While the merchant princes had superior versions of the machine, and had used them to produce defensive weapons on pod stations, the Guardians had not yet been able to obtain one of those, and had moral reasons for not wanting to do so. The high-quality hibbamatics were being used for planetary security, and despite the differences the Guardians had with the Doge and Francella, neither Thinker nor Subi wanted to compromise planetary defenses. At least the enemies on Canopa, though despicable, were not Mutatis.
So, the hidden Guardians had been making do with what they had, and it wasn’t that much. Still, the flawed Hibbil unit had given Thinker some ideas on how to produce his own, and he was making the attempt.
Glancing over at Thinker’s dull-gray metal box, Gio wondered why the robot leader often folded himself shut, something he refused to explain. To Gio it didn’t make sense and seemed almost eccentric … a Human quality. A machine shouldn’t need to focus its concentration in such a manner; it should be able to set its programs and block everything out electronically.…
The unseen mist swirled around Thinker, as if trying to merge with the robot. The ghostly form flickered and glowed around the gray box, like an aura for Thinker, but still Gio could not see it. Unconsciously, though, Gio’s gaze followed its motion, as if he sensed something there. Then he looked back at Thinker.
Gio assumed the robot leader was just peculiar, and with peculiar people there was often no particular explanation. They just did things their own way, for their own unexplained reasons. Thinker and some of the other sentient machines seemed to have a number of Humanlike characteristics, albeit artificial ones. The machines were interesting personalities, Gio admitted, not the mundane sorts he might have expected.
They were surprisingly quiet down here on the floor of the cavern, Gio thought, all those robots moving back and forth, building their own little brothers. They were not nearly as noisy as a Digger machine boring through rock and dirt.
Finally, Thinker unfolded with a small commotion of metal. Turning his flat face toward Gio, he said, “My analysis of new, substantiated data points to the location of Master Noah. The information is sparse, but it is the best we’ve received so far.”
Gio nodded. Earlier in the day, he had brought Thinker a new reconnaissance report, highlighting all the false leads the government had been disseminating on Noah in their efforts to conceal his whereabouts. But now the Guardians had real, proven data about a government effort to conceal a high-value prisoner.
For several moments, the robot did not say anything more. He just stood there, gazing down at the manufacturing floor with his metal-lidded eyes, drinking up details of the operations, processing and reprocessing the information in
his data banks.…
After considering the problem at length, wondering how best to locate the missing leader of the Guardians, Giovanni Nehr had helped to obtain and assemble the data in the new reconnaissance report, and had influenced its findings. Considering his own input now, he felt rather proud of himself. He’d never seen the robot leader take so long to respond.
During all the time that Noah had been missing, Thinker had been pessimistic about finding him, saying that the possibilities were too large and there were not enough Guardians to complete an adequate search. But when Gio provided the latest report to Thinker, there had been a shift. The orange lights around the robot’s face had blinked quickly; the mechanical voice had been more measured.
“I must contemplate that for a reasoned response,” Thinker had said, just before folding himself closed.
Now the orange lights around the perimeter of his face plate began to glow. Finally, he said, “I am prepared to answer now.” The lights stopped blinking. With his gray metal eyes open wide, Thinker stared at Gio. Something glinted deep inside one of the intelligent eyes. “As a sentient robot, it is my primary goal in life to serve Humans, who were our original creators, and as such are almost godlike beings to us. At the Inn of the White Sun and the planet Ignem, I was consumed by one overriding desire, to build as many robots as I could and put them in the service of humanity. At that time, with all of my resources focused on that one goal, the full complement of my operating programs were at my disposal.”
“For the life of me, I don’t understand what you’re getting at. What about the new recon report?”
“With all appropriate respect, Gio, you do not think like a machine, so your confusion is understandable. Consider the context of my remarks and realize, please, that I have now placed myself and my followers in service to humankind. I have attained my most important mission in life. I am here, doing what I want to do. The moment I began to work for Noah, my internal programming made certain automatic modifications. My personal initiative was shunted aside, since it might cause me to be overly aggressive. Robots must, by definition, be subservient and passive in the presence of Human masters such as yourself.”
“I am Human, but I do not order you around. On the contrary, I am under your command.”
“Only for training. Eventually, you will be my superior, since Humans always rise above machines. That is one of the basic laws of Human-machine interaction. You are superior creatures, and naturally exceed our capabilities. Now that we are in service to your race, we must be extra careful about what we do. I have sensed your previous displeasure about my inability to locate Noah. Other Humans, such as Subi Danvar, have been openly argumentative with me.”
“That’s all very interesting, but now I’d like you to give me your new probability calculations.”
“Very well. Let me recheck them. For that, I don’t even need to fold closed.” He made a whirring noise, and presently began to spew out the names of the prisons on Canopa and other places where Noah might be, along with percentage probabilities of where he might be at any moment.
Listening carefully, Gio said, “There is a one-point-seven-one-percent chance that he is inside the Max One prison, and that’s the highest odds?”
“There are many possibilities, even, as I said, a chance that he might not be at one of the government facilities I have listed. There is, in fact, a twenty-seven-point-three-two-percent chance that he is being held by a private party or a private company, which is a much higher overall percentage than the Max One odds. But when all of the private locations and all of the government facilities are considered, there is a greater probability that he is in Max One than anywhere else.”
The robot paused, and blinked his metal-lidded eyes. “Are you following me?”
“I think so.” Gio chewed on the inside of his lower lip. He was anxious to go out and find Noah.
“Keep in mind as well that these possibilities change from moment to moment and hour to hour, as I absorb new data from a variety of sources.”
“OK, but tell me this. What are the odds that Noah is still alive?”
Thinker’s mechanical eyes looked sad. “That is not something I wish to discuss. Will you excuse me from answering?”
Surprised at the emotional display, though it was undoubtedly programmed, Gio said, “Of course. I’ll focus on Max One for the moment.” He hurried off to tell Subi what he had learned.
Behind him, the mist lingered around Thinker, and then disappeared into the ether.
Chapter Twenty-three
There are many forms of confinement, both seen and unseen. It is often the unseen ones that are the most debilitating.
—Princess Meghina of Siriki
At the CorpOne medical laboratory, it had been another long day of tests on Noah, of unanswered questions and lines of scientific inquiry that seemed to lead nowhere. It was late afternoon, and Dr. Bichette stepped out of the room for a break, with his assistants. They left Noah where he was, secured to the examination table by electronic straps.
For some time now, Noah had felt a spinning sensation and a hum of energy all around him whenever he was under the electronic restraints. Where was it coming from? Noah had not been able to tell. Struggling to comprehend, his mind had vaulted away, and for a few minutes he had seen his friends Subi and Thinker, before the linkage broke.
Now the spinning sensation and energy hum became more intense, and he realized that he was generating it himself. His ankles and wrists felt increasingly hot. He struggled with the restraints, thinking something might be shorting out in the electronic system. The invisible straps were burning his skin.
Then, surprisingly, he pulled one wrist free, followed by the other. With only moderate effort, he also pulled his ankles loose and jumped off the table. Looking around, he decided to run up the stairs past the empty spectator seats. Reaching a door at the top, he opened it and found a corridor.
He ran with a burst of athletic speed. It was the first time he’d really been able to stretch his legs since being taken prisoner by the Red Berets, and he took full advantage of it. The corridor led to a bank of ascensores. At this early hour no one was around, and he felt strong despite not having slept much. He only needed to sleep for around six hours a night now, and this was continuing to drop, as it had been since Eshaz administered the Timeweb healing treatment on him.
Noah touched a pressure pad to order one of the high-speed lift mechanisms, and instantly he sensed that he had made a mistake. The pad felt odd, with a slick surface. A moment passed, and then he realized it had either read his identity or had decided that he was not an authorized user. Looking around, he didn’t see any surveillance cameras, but they might be there anyway.
By the time alarm klaxons and bells sounded, Noah was running the other direction down the corridor, past the upper door to the operating theater.
He heard Dr. Bichette’s voice on the loudspeaker system, shouting orders to the security staff. Just behind Noah a heavy metalloy door closed with an ominous thump, blocking the corridor. Ahead he saw another one coming down, and he rolled through only a fraction of a second before it slammed down. They were blocking sections off. Another door dropped ahead, and he found himself trapped in a small area, with no doors or windows.
* * * * *
Half a dozen security men escorted Noah roughly back to the operating table, where Dr. Bichette and his assistants awaited them.
“He got out of the electronic straps,” one of the security officers said. “Look at the burn marks on the table. How’d he do that?”
“I see you are going to require extraordinary measures,” the doctor said in an irritated voice. “Get back on the table, please.” Looking at the security staff, he told them to remain close by.
“I have a little genetic test to perform,” Bichette announced as Noah lay down on the table. “For your own sake, let’s hope it goes well and we discover what we need.”
“The secret of my restorative po
wers,” Noah murmured bitterly.
“Precisely. Tell your genes to talk to me. Incidentally, don’t expect any favors from me, either. I didn’t appreciate being kidnapped by your criminal gang of so-called Guardians, or the poor attitude you have displayed this morning.”
Seeing no point or benefit in answering, Noah said nothing. He felt the numbing effects of drugs, and for a time he fought them. Then, setting aside the discomforts of the medical procedure, Noah drifted into a timetrance journey in his mind, venturing out into the space-time continuum, the vast celestial web.
Inside the alternate realm, he saw a blur of faces, and then one came into sharp focus. His Tulyan friend Eshaz gazed at him with pale gray eyes, inviting him to a place that was much safer. Noah merged into the form, like a man diving into warm water, and the countenance disappeared.
Abruptly he found himself thinking with the brain of Eshaz, remembering back to an ancient era when Tulyans had a mandate to care for the entire galaxy, and held dominion over podships. Those were halcyon days, the best of all time, and for the cosmic traveler it was an awe-inspiring experience.
That evening when Noah Watanabe awoke in his room, with the drugs wearing off, he still retained something of the Tulyan experience, as a comforting memory. Around him, he saw the orange glow of the containment field, and he recalled a guard who had experienced trouble with the field control of the system. At the time, Noah had assumed it was a simple electronic malfunction. Now he began to wonder if the energy field of his own body had contributed to it.
Reaching out, he touched the barrier with his fingertips. It looked solid, felt solid. On the other side, a guard watched him closely, his hand on the handle of a holstered gun at his hip.
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