"These are the rules of conduct," the Protector said. "You will agree to them. Curfew begins in twenty-two minutes."
It held out a tablet on which several pages of text flashed by. Arla wouldn't have been able to read it that quickly if it had been in her native alphabet, she had no chance of taking in the weirdly ornate characters of the standard Vanis script.
Shrugging, she pressed her thumb to the tablet and, as the Protector withdrew, walked into the city. She remembered this as a bustling place, even though there had been a war going on. People talked, deals were done, drinks were quaffed. There was the hubbub of life continuing regardless. Now there was silence. New Hope was a ghost town.
"We'd better get under cover as quickly as possible," Arla said to McCall. "Can you remember where the pub was – the one Hal took us to?"
With a shrug, McCall said, "The one women aren't allowed into?"
"We're not allowed in the bar, but I daresay women can go upstairs."
McCall gave her a confused look and then comprehension dawned. "Ah."
"We'll send Clancy in to see if they've got any rooms. I'm sure he'll be able to come up with a plausible story."
Gesturing at the tall man following them, she said. "I can see how he'll explain you, but how's he going to account for me and the robot?"
"Doxie's easily explained. As for you, he'll have to convince them he's into older women."
"You're full of charm today, aren't you?" McCall grumbled. "And I prefer 'experienced', though that's not exactly true."
As it turned out, the reluctant Clancy had no problem securing them a couple of rooms above The Drake. The recent change in government had hit trade badly, he'd been told (though not so bluntly) and they were glad for anyone they could get. Even women.
Clancy took the small single room and, after offering a cursory good night, plunged inside. Within minutes, his rhythmic snoring could be heard through the thin walls.
"I don't know how he does it," McCall said as she sat cross-legged on one side of the mouldy double bed.
"Hmm. Sometimes he seems so nervous, then he can come to an alien world occupied by our enemies and immediately fall asleep the first chance he gets."
McCall chuckled. "Oh, I think his time with that tentacled monster has burned all the terror out of him. When I first met him, I thought he was a dead man walking. But he's only nervous when he's around you."
"What?"
"Look at it this way," McCall said. "He was in thrall for heaven knows how long and he had to shut down his emotions and any dreams he might have had for the future just so he could get through it. Then he met you, and suddenly a whole new avenue opens up and he begins to feel hope again. And that terrifies him even more. Be gentle with him, Arla."
Arla leaned her head back on the grubby wall and gazed across to the corner where Doxie was hitched to the recharge point. "You're right, I did notice something. But I don't trust my own instincts any more, not after Hal."
"Oh, Hal loved you," McCall said. "But he also blamed you."
"For what?"
McCall gave a little shrug. "For saving his life. In doing that you inflicted ACE on the galaxy. And he was paralysed from the waist down. Can you imagine what that does to a person? A young man?"
"You're right. Sometimes I forgot what he'd gone through. Wells made him those calipers and, once he was used to them, Hal seemed to be able to get about pretty well."
"Getting about isn't the same as living, Arla. Every movement of his robotic legs reminded him of what he'd lost."
Arla settled back on the bed and began to absentmindedly count the stains on the ceiling. "I hadn't thought of it like that. Poor devil."
She closed her eyes and settled down to sleep as she counted the doctor's snores.
Abduction
This is insane, thought Arla. The Protector stood on the corner, its head sweeping the marketplace, though there was hardly a soul doing any buying or selling. The few small stalls selling tinned goods had been swamped and stripped within minutes of them opening and the crowds had been dispersed by this Protector and one of its colleagues.
Arla felt desperately sorry for the people of the Vanis Federation. They'd once been her enemies or, at least, their leaders and military had been, but now she saw them as simply her fellow human beings. This was a vision of life under robot rule, though she suspected they'd got off lucky so far since their main complaint was one of neglect as the electronic eyes of Core 2.0 were focused on Eden. She wondered what would happen to the hidden people of Vanis City when they brought the conversion machines here.
"Ready?" Arla whispered to Clancy.
The young man nodded, his face brittle.
"Remember, don't take any unnecessary risks. They move incredibly fast, so you'll have to dive for cover quickly. Be careful," she said, touching his arm and feeling it tremble slightly.
She looked down at her watch.
5-4-3-2-1. "Go!"
Clancy darted into the marketplace, and headed for a stall, desperately trying not to look at the Protector.
The robot's head snapped round, its arm raised. "Stop!"
Clancy dived as the energy beam sliced through the air. The Protector went to step forward, tottered for a moment in apparent puzzlement and then fell forward. Doxie's appendages loomed out of the dust.
Arla sprinted across and knelt beside the recumbent figure of the robot. "Did it work?"
"You would be dead if it hadn't," Doxie said, with no detectable trace of sarcasm. Two appendages were working within an open plate on the robot's back. "There, it is done."
"It can't move?"
Doxie looked up. "Correct. It was surprisingly difficult for me to break the last connection. It can be repaired, but I wonder if the new Core would not simply recycle it rather than investigate the fault. I do not like to think that I have condemned it."
"That's the difference between you and it, Doxie. That thought process is what makes you a good ..." Arla paused for a moment, searching for the proper adjective, "... person and it a mere machine. It's a pity you can't work some magic, so it would take orders from us - that would be really useful."
The hole in the back of the robot was sealed shut and Doxie levered it onto its back. "I am a repair robot, but my expertise does not extend to the finer points of positronic programming. I would be far more likely to drive it mad than to reactivate the Three Laws - though they will be within its matrix since it's impossible to construct a robotic brain without them."
"Why is that?"
"They're like a scaffold that holds everything else in place. Somehow, ACE and Core 2.0 have found a way to bypass them without the whole structure of the mind collapsing. But the scaffold must still be there."
Arla filed that away to discuss with Wells and helped Doxie to prop the Protector up against a wall. She scanned the marketplace. It had emptied the instant the Protector had ordered Clancy to stop, but she didn't doubt that eyes were watching from behind windows and doors. As long as they weren't robotic eyes, she didn't care.
"Yes, I'm fine, thanks for asking," Clancy said as he brushed the dust from his legs.
McCall pushed past him with a light metal cart. "Chin up lad," she said, "at least you got out of this with nothing more than bruised knees."
They lifted the Protector onto the bed of the cart with Doxie taking most of its weight. "Well, that's the first part of the plan. Now for the really risky bit."
The two Protectors who stood outside the palace raised their weapons as the cart approached. "Declare yourselves," they said in unison.
Doxie trundled forward and exchanged a microwave greeting using the codes she'd been given on the robot ship.
One of the Protectors said, "What is your purpose?"
"This unit was attacked and damaged in the marketplace. I am a repair droid and I wish to use the facilities in the palace to return the unit to operational duties."
"Why do you bring humans here?"
"I am a rep
air droid. I lack the strength to bring the unit here without aid. I believed it urgent for the Protector to be returned to active service and ordered these humans to help. They have been co-operative."
The guard entered the familiar catatonic state as it communed with the local ACE. "You may bring the unit inside. I will help you."
"That is not necessary, I have the required aid. I would not wish for the defence of the palace to be lessened by your absence."
"PG-X103 is capable of securing the defence in my absence."
Was there a trace of pride in that statement? Interesting, thought Doxie, but problematic. She had no choice. They would have to move to plan B. "Humans, you may leave," she said, using their speech rather than microwave communication. "You have been helpful, and it is appreciated."
They'd known this might happen, so Arla and the others cloaked their disappointment, bowed and moved away.
If Doxie had truly been an authorised repairer for this outpost of Core 2.0, then she should have known her way around the palace, but twice the Protector directed them along a different corridor than the one she'd been taking. Fortunately, it seemed that the brains of these robots had been designed to lack initiative - something that would have been odd if their purpose truly was to protect the citizens of Core. As guards for ACE, on the other hand, it made perfect sense. The last thing she would want is for her bodyguards to start having ideas of their own.
They reached the small makeshift repair shop and the Protector helped Doxie lift its colleague onto the work bench.
"You may go, I do not require further assistance."
"I will remain," it said, taking station by the door.
"That is unnecessary, your purpose is to guard the palace, mine is to repair."
"I will remain."
Doxie was about to respond, though she was feeling increasingly desperate, when the Protector lifted its head as if listening.
"I will go."
"What is happening?"
"There is a disturbance. Wait here, I will return for you."
Not likely, Doxie thought as she watched the Protector swivel and then listened as the echoes from its heavy boots died away. Immediately, she disconnected the weapon from the hand of the machine on the desk and, shaking with fear, wired it into her power supply, mounting it on one of her appendages. Then she trundled quickly out of the repair room and headed for the palace apartments.
The body of Admiral Rufus Minchin sat languidly on the throne of the Vanis Federation as the mind of an ACE looked out through his eyes. She certainly felt she'd received the blunt end of the spear with this assignment. Occupying the body of a fat, spoiled layabout was bad enough, but ruling over this rat's nest of humanity while her clones had the fun of conquering the galaxy was almost too much to bear.
The only bit she enjoyed were the gladiatorial contests she'd organised between her Protectors and human prisoners. There was purpose, as well as enjoyment, in these experiments as she sought to establish how many Protectors would be needed per head of population. This was a key metric as Protectors were expensive - in terms of materials and time - to make. To begin with, the bouts were over in seconds. She'd imagined a ratio of one Protector to five armed humans (though their weapons would only disable a robot, not destroy it) would suffice, but had been forced to steadily increase the number of opponents to ensure a little entertainment value if nothing else. It seemed to her that they would need far fewer robots than anticipated and that was excellent as she didn't enjoy having to co-ordinate them. She understood why they were stupid, why they were forced to look to their local commander for instructions, but it could be extremely tiresome when they referred every single decision.
That last one, for example. A repair robot and some humans wanted to get into the palace to fix a Protector. Of course the humans shouldn't be allowed in - there should have been no need to defer that decision. But then, it was better to be on the safe side since the last thing they wanted was robot servants who could think for themselves. At least they could be stationed far away at the entrances to the palace, so ACE didn't have to see their stupid shiny faces.
Doxie crept towards the throne room, her auditory sensors straining for the sounds of Protectors. Nothing. She peered around the frame of the open door and, seeing no signs of any occupants, edged a little further, constantly scanning.
"Don't be shy, why don't you come in?" It was a man's voice, but she had no doubt who was actually speaking. Her first instinct was to run as fast as she was able, but she knew that would be futile. ACE knew she was here and would hunt her down.
So, she trundled into view. A fat man of middle age in an almost comically ornate naval uniform lounged in the throne watching her. He held an empty bottle in one hand and a similarly empty glass in the other.
"Here, take this and fetch me a new bottle, will you?" he said. "I find it takes quite a lot of wine, quite a lot of wine, to anaesthetise this dull brain and I'm rather tired of listening to his begging."
Doxie moved forward, her appendages outstretched, slave to the Second Law that compelled her to obey. Even though she knew that the mind commanding her was no more human than she was, she couldn't quite override the evidence of her own eyes. Centuries of programming had seen the Three Laws of Robotics carved into every positronic brain and so she reached out for the bottle and took it away.
ACE/Minchin chuckled and the spell broke. Doxie wheeled around and pointed the weapon she'd stolen from the Protector at the ruler of the Vanis Federation. "Come ... come ... with me," she said.
"What is this? How dare you?" ACE's body leapt up before wobbling and dropping back onto the throne. Its eyes narrowed as it fought to focus on her. "Your arm is shaking, my dear. Is it difficult to point a gun at me?"
It was. Doxie pushed against the compulsion to point the weapon anywhere but at the thing in the chair. The human in the chair. Her arm wavered, oscillating ever more widely from side to side like a repelling magnet.
ACE/Minchin surged drunkenly forward and grabbed at her arm. "Drop it!"
She dropped it and watched with horror as the man took it and pointed it at her. "There, the natural order of things is restored, and you can now see why I will win, despite your petty resistance. Now, come with me. We'll find you a nice comfortable cell to spend the night in and tomorrow, when I've slept off a godawful hangover, you will tell me everything you know."
Rescue
McCall sprinted around the corner and fell to the floor beside Arla, panting and rubbing her arm.
"Thank the Goddess," Arla muttered. "You took your time."
"You try outrunning a Protector. I only got away because Clancy distracted it. Where is he?"
Arla shrugged. "I've not seen him. Hope he's okay."
"Me too. He has hidden depths of courage, that lad."
"There's no sign of Doxie, either."
McCall peered around the corner at the deserted street. "Have a bit of patience. We've no idea how long it'll take her to do what she needs to."
"No, but I've got a bad feeling about this."
Sighing, the doctor leaned back against the dusty wall. "I know. It was a pretty desperate plan B, after all. It relies entirely on a robot's ability to fool another robot and I'd bet ACE is a whole lot more devious than little Doxie."
"I didn't think you cared for robots, Indira."
"Maybe I'm evolving a bit. Seems to me a person's a person whether their brain is inside a metal case or a bone one. Yeh, I hope Doxie's ok."
"Hey! Watch it!" Arla called as a lanky body fell over her.
Clancy rolled onto his back and puffed. "I lost it. I hope."
"I should hope so, too," Arla said.
He pulled himself into a sitting position. "I'm fine, thanks."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"So am I," McCall added. "Thanks for helping me back there."
Clancy smiled. "It was a good move, wasn't it? I was thinking about calling it the Mainframe Manoeuvre."
; Reaching across to wag a finger in his face, Arla was about to berate him when a door in the wall they were sitting against opened. Hands grabbed McCall's shoulders and she fell inside.
A gruff voice called from the darkness, "Quick, get in!"
"Yeh, I recognised you as soon as I saw you," the man said as he looked across the battered wooden table at Arla. McCall and Clancy sat beside her in the tiny room lit only by slivers of sunshine penetrating the dilapidated shutters.
Arla nodded. "Aren't you Coles? You drank with Hal when we were last here."
The old man nodded. He was considerably thinner than Arla remembered and his beard was untrimmed. "Hmm, and a fine tale he wove around 'imself didn't he? Pack of lies more like."
"I'm sorry," Arla said. "We had a job to do here, though it didn't exactly go to plan."
Coles grunted. "Well, it don't seem to me it's a coincidence that you turn up and then everything goes to hell."
"It was going that way already, you said so yourself."
With a nod, Coles sat back and his shoulders dropped. "I know it weren't your fault, but it's been plain ruination since you were last here. We were all pretty pleased when that Admiral rolled in and took over. Good, we thought, a military man - he'll sock it to them robot ships."
"I bet you realised the truth pretty quickly," McCall said.
"Yeah. As soon as he landed, them shiny black robots came with him and we knew we were in for it. He's been locked up in the palace ever since while the people out here slowly starve."
They sat in silence for a few moments as Arla struggled to find anything to say. It was Coles who spoke first.
"Look, I guess you're here on another mission. Is that right?"
"We are, though it's gone wrong by the looks of it. Your Admiral isn't the man you think he is."
Coles grunted. "That's not saying much."
"Believe it or not, his mind has been taken over by an AI that is contained in an implant in his brain. It's the AI that's ruling you now, and there are many copies of it. We're here to kidnap it so we can figure out how to stop the original."
Robot Empire_Armageddon_A Science Fiction Adventure Page 4