The Chronicles of Old Guy (Volume 1) (An Old Guy/Cybertank Adventure)

by Timothy J. Gawne

  I could do everything from orbit, sending landers down when I need to get physical samples, but where’s the fun in that? Besides, Mondocat has started to wake up, and I will need to let her run around on a planet soon. I decide to land in a bare patch next to the largest area of Terran forest. I cover my treads with rapid-hardening ablative foam and streak across the atmosphere leaving a brilliant trail hundreds of kilometers long. It would be fun if Mondocat could ride on the top of my hull when I do this, but even her advanced physiology couldn’t handle these extremes of temperature and pressure. Pity, she’d enjoy the view.

  I land in a boring rocky landscape covered with moss and lichen, but nothing else: no trees, no grasses, no animals - not even insects. I release Mondocat, she stretches and looks around, and then bounds off. She could survive on the moss if she had to – or I could whip up a batch of protein – but she would rather find something to hunt.

  I analyze the flora, and it’s like I thought: primitive plants only, enough to create an oxygen atmosphere but no more, and with a mixture of stereo-isomers that is definitely non-Terran. As I explore this planet I encounter the edge of the dead gray region, it’s an ugly, slimy zone. Farther on life picks back up, and I see evidence of more complexity: insects, flowers, shrubs. Analysis confirms my suspicions: this is life from old Earth. The biochemistry here is incompatible with that of the surrounding region. The dead gray zones are areas where the two biomes mix, and as they are mutually toxic, life there is stunted and decaying.

  When two different ecologies meet, it is typical for the more advanced one to exterminate the less advanced one. On old Earth, the presence of a land bridge between North and South America resulted in the more advanced northern predators wiping out the southern ones. But that only works with compatible biochemistries. The Terran organisms are far more advanced than the native mosses and lichens of this planet, but they are not hunting each other. Poison is poison no matter how smart you are, and a sophisticated Terran animal that eats a primitive moss with the wrong stereo-isomers in it is just as dead as a primitive lichen that tries to grow on the rotting carcass of a Terran animal. Stalemate.

  The transitional zone is a truly disgusting slime – even the processes of decay are diseased! Here and there are dying deformed insects, or the partially-unrotting carcasses of small rodents. Fungal blotches cover half-dead bodies. Hieronymus Bosch could not have conceived of such a miserable filth of a hell.

  Eventually the Terran ecology will likely triumph, but that could take a very long time. But right now I have a bigger question: why is there an invading Terran ecology on this planet in the first place? We have no records of humans attempting to colonize this region of space. But it could be the result of an unrecorded settlement. There might be humans here. That would be interesting.

  I activate the Herman Shikibu android, and set off to walk towards the nearby Terran forest. It’s a long walk, but I’m in no hurry. Gradually I make it out of the diseased transitional zone and into healthy Terran forestland. There are some wild pigs rooting in the leaves. There is an explosion, and the pigs are squealing and running for their lives, except for the one that has been caught by Mondocat.

  I send some plant samples back to my main self, and analysis confirms that this is real Terran biochemistry. Interesting. I find a path through the forest and follow it. The sun is setting, and I can see Terran bats take flight hunting insects. Mondocat is walking by my side. She must have finished eating the pig and decided to join me. As the twilight darkens I notice that we are being watched – by what appear to be humanoids? Perhaps human beings? Mondocat gives no overt sign of being observed but from long experience of her body language I can tell that she is aware of this, but she is too smooth and arrogant to give away any overt signs.

  Eventually we come to a clearing that has what appear to be the ruins of a 16th century castle. I have trouble determining if the castle is half-ruined, or half-finished. However, in the clearing I also see a dozen handy-bots. Handy-bots! A clear indication of a human presence.

  As a general rule, sophisticated machinery requires a major industrial center to manufacture. This crippled the early human attempts at settling other worlds, because it was so hard to ship enough machinery out to other stars to make a colony self-sustaining. Enter the handy-bots. Moronic machines, of limited efficiency, designed by some of the greatest geniuses of the human race, for use by morons.

  A handy-bot has a hemispherical base about one and half meters in diameter, mounted on three knobby rubber wheels. On top of the hemisphere is a single multi-jointed arm with a four-fingered hand. The base has a single camera lens eye, a single audio microphone, and a single audio speaker. There is a pair of solar-sell wings that it can unfurl in bright sunlight. The real point of a handy-bot, though, is the small material processing and microfabrication plant built inside.

  A handy-bot can process common dirt and biological waste into a variety of different materials. It has built-in templates for building many useful things: water purification plants, electric motors, batteries, sawmills. Now, even a handy-bot can’t make copies of itself, but, with enough time, a bunch of them can build a specialized mini-factory that can. Over many centuries of service, the handy-bot design had never been improved, because even the most minor upgrade would require just one little extra thing that a handy-bot mini-factory couldn’t make on its own without being upgraded to the size a small city.

  A colony fleet would be sent out with a few hundred handy-bots packed in a cargo hold. Upon arrival, half of them would be put to work building infrastructure, and the other half would be set to making factories to make copies of themselves. Eventually the colony would be built up enough that the slow and inefficient handy-bots could be scrapped, but it was the handy-bots that made it possible. We don’t need to bother with such crude mechanisms anymore. Each cybertank is itself a minor industrial center, and when we colonize a system we travel with kilometers-long manufacturing ships and do it right. However the early humans didn’t have these resources. It was the handybots that made their initial spread into the universe possible. An initial spread for which they were not ready, and that almost got them exterminated.

  These handy-bots were mending a stone fence. Slowly, awkwardly, they would find a stone with their single arm, then move it into position. Half the time the stone would not fit, and the handy-bot would freeze, thinking with its extremely slow processor, and then either reach for another stone, or find another place to put the first stone. It was painful to watch them work so inefficiently, yet there was no denying that the fence was getting mended. They might finish in a week or two.

  The sun was setting, and our observers were becoming bolder. Perhaps they thought that the dark gave them cover? A foolish conceit. Even this non-combat rated chassis can see perfectly well in clear starlight. We walk past the handy-bots and their unfinished stone wall, and come to the main entrance of the castle. It’s a wooden door, crude but impressively solid, with massive iron hinges and a large hinged knocker. Well, nothing else for it, so I knock. Nothing happens. That’s OK, I don’t have a train to catch, so I wait. I hear faint, tentative footsteps behind the door. I have been noticed, but whoever lives here is not quite certain what to do about it.

  Eventually I hear the sound of a bolt being withdrawn, and the door opens. On the other side is what appears to be a human female, of indeterminate age. She is moderately attractive, in a pale anorexic sort of way, wearing a tight-fitting black dress and entirely too much makeup. At least it looks like a human female. It could be a fiendish alien trap. One never knows, and all too many aliens can be fiendish, when it suits them.

  Hello. My name is ‘Old Guy’. Pleased to make your acquaintance. Might I have your name?

  The woman seems put off by my appearance. I can’t understand why – the android is a generic human male. Perhaps they simply haven’t had visitors for a while? She stares at me, then stammers, “Sheila. My name is Sheila Brown.” That seems to be all
that she is able to say.

  I turn around, but Mondocat is nowhere to be seen. She must have wandered off into the night. Just as well, I have only limited influence over her, and she might have decided to eat the beings living here. That could be construed as being impolite.

  Well, Sheila, I thank you for letting me into your home. I am just passing through the area, and did not realize that anyone lived here. What is this place called, anyhow?

  “This is the Castle Fenrick,” she said.

  That’s nice, but I meant the planet? What do you call this world?

  “The entire planet? This is New York.” Sheila stares at her feet for a bit. “It’s not really New York, we just like calling it that. Why don’t you come and meet the others?” She closes the door and latches it shut, then turns around and heads off down the hall leading away from the door. She looks like a human, but she has odd features: she is too pale, her gait and posture are off, and her bone structure is beyond the norms. Perhaps she is some genetically engineered offshoot of homo sapiens? If so her type is not in any of my databases. I really need to get a tissue sample back to my main hull, but that would be rather forward on a first date. On the other hand, there are several of these creatures wandering around in the woods outside, and I only need a scrap of shed skin or hair. I set some micro-remotes to the task: I will have my data shortly, one way or the other.

  I follow Sheila down a long hall. A handy-bot is slowly but surely polishing the smooth granite floor. The sides of the hall are decorated with garish wood carvings and heavy dark furniture that in less enlightened eras would have been termed ‘gay.’ Wrought iron braziers stick out from the wall. They do not flicker with real fire but rather with the electronically simulated flames of antique light-emitting diodes. It’s a really tacky effect. Do these creatures have no sense of style?

  We come to another set of heavy wooden doors, which Sheila pushes open. Beyond is a largish room, about 20 meters square and with a four-meter ceiling. The furnishings are as tacky as they were in the entrance hall. Several people with the same odd pale somatotype as Sheila are present. They are dressed in what I believe is called the ‘Goth’ style, with a lot of black leather, black lace, and black belts with silver metal studs. They are torn between showing surprise at my presence and acting nonchalant, so they compromise on looking mildly awkward.

  A man is seated on a large wooden chair that is vaguely thrown-like. He is wearing a coarse but elegant gray woolen suit, a gray tie, and black wing-tip shoes. I presume that he is their leader? He and several of the others are drinking red wine from glass goblets. He beckons me forwards.

  “Come, come, and join us! We have visitors so rarely. You are our honored guest. Would you join us in some wine?”

  Thank you no, but some fresh water would be fine.

  The leader waved to one of the others. “Please, fetch our guest some water, and another chair. We must show him our hospitality.” Someone dragged a chair from the wall, and set it down next to the leader, and another handed me a glass of clear water. I take the hint, and sit down, facing the leader. The others remain standing in a rough circle around us.

  The leader sipped on his wine. “We do not get many visitors here, but tell me: are you any relation to Herman Shikibu?”

  My pardon, I did not mean to confuse. I never expected to meet a being who would have recognized him out here. Shikibu is a hero of mine, and I sometimes use his form. But I am not in any way related to him, and, to my knowledge, he has been dead for well over a thousand years and left no surviving relatives. I am a representative of the cybertank serial number CRL345BY-44, commonly known as “Old Guy.” And might I have your name?

  “You represent a cybertank? I knew of such weapons, a long time ago, but I did not realize that they needed personal representatives. I suppose that the times have changed. In any event, my name is King Stephan – well, actually it’s Stephan Rapovich, but for the time being I am the leader of this world, and ‘King’ is as good a title for a leader as any. And what, might I ask, is your purpose in visiting us?”

  A long-range scout of ours encountered signals from your handybots, and spectrographic data from your forest that was not expected. I was sent to investigate. There are no records of any human colonies having been seeded in this sector of space. I am surprised. How did you come to be here?

  Stephan chuckled over his wine. “Well, that is a rather long story.” He leaned forward in his chair and stared at me. “Why don’t you tell us who you really are?” King Stephan continued to gaze at me most intensely. It was pretty awkward. The crude olfactory sensors of my Shikibu android detect a strong musky odor – bad cologne? Or a pheromone? Is he trying to hypnotize me? That would be so totally lame. I act casual, sip at my water, and wait for something to happen.

  Eventually King Stephan gets the hint, and leans back and drinks more of his wine. He does recover smooth, I’ll give him that. “Well, perhaps I have misjudged you. Svetlana, perhaps you could show our guest some higher courtesies?”

  One of the females, perhaps more attractive than the rest in a half-starved Slavic sort of way, comes forwards. She practically launches herself into my lap, stroking my shoulder, and it’s all that I can do to avoid laughing out loud. I detect more of the musky odor, slightly lighter in tone than that from King Stephan but still of the same general type. I suppress an urge to laugh out loud – do these morons really think that they can seduce me?’

  I suppose that it’s my fault. I should have just showed up in a utilitarian scout chassis, and nobody would have had any misconceptions about what I am. But who would have thought that, in the middle of this enormous galaxy, I would have encountered beings who respond emotionally to the human form? Twice, if you consider the inhabitants of the alternate dimension. On the other hand, if I did give up my preference for human-form remotes, and used a simple mechanical chassis for exploring, I imagine that the next intelligent species that I encounter will consider it the sexiest thing that ever walked on two metal struts. Great heavens, if something can’t get over surface appearances then they don’t deserve the adjective intelligent.

  Your pardon, I am grateful for your attentions, but I am afraid that there has been a misunderstanding here. I am not a human being, and do not react psychologically as one. This body is not flesh and blood, but just a machine. I apologize for the confusion.

  Svetlana pouts and gets off my lap, and backs away. She and King Stephan both look insulted. “You will tell us what you are, and where you come from, and what forces you represent,” he says.

  No, we will have a simple talk, and trade information. Surely that is the civilized thing to do?

  For some reason King Stephan acts pissed at my response. “No, we will do it my way. You will tell us what you know.”

  This is boring. Let me know when you are ready for a decent conversation.

  I stand and move to leave. King Stephan grabs my shoulder to stop me. He’s stronger than a pre-exodus human, but not as strong as this chassis, and he seems startled that he does not easily overpower me. However, there are a lot of them, and they cluster around me. I could probably make a good showing of it, and take out four or five of them before being brought down, but really, what would be the point? Some of them produce chains. Are they really proposing to take me prisoner? Is this a bad movie that I am watching?

  You are making a mistake. You have no idea what I represent, and I have come to you to trade information freely. You would threaten me in order to gain knowledge that I would give willingly? With respect, are you insane?

  King Stephan is not persuaded. “Chain him up, and throw him in the dungeon. Perhaps he can be persuaded to be more cooperative after a week or two without food.”

  Now this truly is stupid. I could barge in here with some combat units and kill the lot of them, but it hardly seems worth the trouble. I think that I will just deactivate this android. They don’t have the technology to interrogate it properly – and I fixed the weakness in
my previous androids that the Amok exploited – so let them try and chain and beat a dead unmoving piece of steel and plastic. If that doesn’t convince them how pointless this all is then nothing will.

  Suddenly my attackers gasp, and their eyes go wide. A shadow glides silently into the room. It’s Mondocat. She must have found a way into the castle, and snuck around exploring until she found me here. She moves towards me, and the people scatter from her like minnows fleeing from a bass. She pays them no attention – she obviously feels that they are beneath her notice – and sidles up to me, purring and rubbing against me.

  King Stephan blanches to an even lighter shade of albino, but does not flee with the others. I must give him credit for that: Mondocat is 1,000 kilograms of bioengineered super-predator. For a generic humanoid to stand evenly next to her must take the sort of courage that a mouse would need to walk up to an alert Rottweiler. Or maybe it’s stupidity? There has been a lot of that about today. Whatever.

  He recovers some of his bluster. “I insist that you send your little pet outside!” he demands.

  Mondocat, quite casually, stretches out and digs her front claws into the granite floor, pulls back and gouges two-centimeter deep furrows into the stone. King Stephan needs to shield his eyes from the rock fragments as they explode out from under her claws. Mondocat just flicks her nicitating membranes. I don’t know if Mondocat was trying to intimidate him, or if she just needed to stretch, but she definitely made her point.