Space 1999 #8 - Android Planet

by John Rankine

  ‘That is the first profound thing that has been said. It is still typically egotistical, however. Travellers like yourselves should know that nothing is impossible. It is unlikely that a thinking machine could be created without the evolution of a biological form. But it is not impossible. In this case, you are right. We have a tie with a human culture. Not on this planet, but on the planet of Copreon. There are a thousand of us on Pelorus. Over the long millennia of the indefinite future, we shall perfect ourselves. Pure mind, uncluttered by emotions or fears or restless appetites. I will tell you my name. I am Gregor. I am President of the Council. Each at this table has a special area of responsibility. Power. Defence. Research. Supply. My consort, the Co-President, is Zenobia and she has charge of all aspects of communication.’

  Sandra Benes, having a professional interest, said bitterly, ‘It’s a great pity she did not use her skills to better effect.’

  It was unlike her and Morrow said, ‘For God’s sake, Sandra, try to make friends. Get her views on Koch resistance and polarized, electrolytic capacitors. Give her a quick burst of Algol. Make her love you like some sister.’

  If Zenobia had been listening, she made no sign. Gregor, however, once having broken into free speech, seemed anxious to get the record straight. He said, ‘What is creation? What makes a living person? In the end it must be put down to blind chance. Simple elements come together and increase in complexity. Once that has happened, there may be an emergent quality which could not have been foreseen.’

  To prove that all Alphans were not trigger-happy and could follow a catalytic concept down a hole, Helena Russell said, ‘There’s some truth there, in the last bit, at least. Think about water. Two gases combine and produce a liquid. Who would think, looking at them, that the product would be so different. You wouldn’t expect the wetness of water for a start. That would be a new thing.’

  Privately, Paul Morrow reckoned she was going a bit far and Gregor might think she was taking a subtle swipe at the qualities of his refined mind. But, in fact, it got a good press. The other golden oldie, Zenobia, said, ‘Precisely. I have often said that the judgement of the female mind was greater than the male.’

  Gregor swivelled his head to look at her and lifted his crab claw for hush. ‘You will understand what I say, then. Though you are quite incapable of appreciating the full extent of the change that took place. We too are from Copreon and we built the community infrastructures which you see. But not, at that stage, for ourselves. There were others here. Copreons. Clever in their way, but reaching a state of degeneration as biological communities always do in the end. The environment of Pelorus was dangerous to them and accelerated the speed of their decline. For us, it was an ideal situation. There are infinitely complex magnetic fields here and sources of immense power which can be tapped. The android cortex was able to make use of these forces. This was the new factor, the catalyst, if you like, which moved the android community on, from its simple role as a work force to a positive and independent life with charge of its own destiny and development.’

  Bergman said, ‘The laws of evolution operate in a random way. An organism adapts to the environment it finds itself in. So far, our claims to life are equal. But we are not denying you the right to life or the ownership of this planet. Why are you so afraid?’

  Zenobia said, ‘You choose your words badly. The concept of fear is one we recognise in men like yourselves. We can analyse its causes and the actions it produces. But it is an emotion. We do not operate in that area. Dr. Russell will understand me if I say that there is no affective side to our mental composition. We have cognition and will. What we know, we can organise and this we do. We know that it would be dangerous to allow you to return to Alpha. You will stay here, since you have not profited from clear warnings to stay away.’

  Choking on it, Koenig said, ‘Warnings? You attempted to destroy Alpha!’

  It could have started the seminar off on a second round. Gregor said, ‘Enough. We have other matters to discuss. This has taken too much time already. You will return to your room. If you resist, it will be the worse for you. Go now.’

  Koenig turned away as though he was going along with it, and the others, taking their cue from him faced round towards the door. Still turning, Koenig was off to a sprint start round the table. If high-level technology had no chance, there might yet be a place for old-fashioned brute force and ignorance. He aimed to get round behind Gregor and take him apart with his bare hands. For that matter, the original designers of the android body shell must have left some visible switchgear to cut off their power in case of malfunction.

  The ideas were racing through his computer as he gunned round the circle. Certainly, the move had taken the androids by surprise. There was no protective wall to stop him. He was behind the leader, taking in the detail of the smooth metal back. No dice for a visible console. There was a round cover plate between the shoulders with a slot to take a tool. A clip fit. Prised out with a claw. Too long.

  The messenger android had stirred itself from its spectator role and was pounding down on him. Koenig grabbed for Gregor’s smooth head with the intention of twisting it off of its stalk. Needles of intense pain stabbed from his fingers and seared up his arms. In his mind, he had a flash picture of his nerve structure suddenly becoming glowing and white hot. He was an illuminated man with a cage of bright wires tightening in his throat.

  If it went any further than that, he knew nothing of it. Black night filled his eyes. He was out on his feet before the attendant plucked him away from his target and lifted him in one easy swing over its head, balancing him like a rag doll.

  What Zenobia had said about emotion was given a practical illustration. Gregor was unmoved. Helena Russell’s alarmed cry, ‘John! What have you done to him?,’ was countered by his even tones saying, ‘Return to your room. This discussion is finished.’

  Helena was trying to reach Koenig, but a wall had dropped to bar her way. Her appeal was agonised, ‘Let me go to him!’

  Gregor was not going to say another word. He had lost interest. Zenobia said, ‘You must see that he brought it on himself. But I will tell you that he has suffered no permanent harm. He will recover. Now, show that you have some understanding and return to your room.’

  John Koenig came back on stream with a hard-edged, eidetic image of Gregor’s back etched on his retina and went right ahead with his arrested programme to grab and hold. Textures were all wrong. He had gotten flesh and a swath of fine hair that came near to clogging his intake.

  Sandra Benes’s startled ‘Eek,’ penetrated his dazed head and he relaxed his bone-crushing grip. It was all very confusing and he was ready to blame Gregor for working a cunning shift.

  Sandra had been leaning over him to take a turn at the medical chore of soothing his forehead with a damp cloth and when she could draw breath, she said, ‘There’s more in this medical business than meets the eye. I think I shall stay with communications. Your patient. Dr. Russell.’

  Helena pushed him back on his cushions. ‘Take it slowly, John. How do you feel?’

  ‘Better all the time and wholly tired of being on the losing end.’

  Missing the backup services of a fully equipped medicentre, she went through a series of checks as old as medicine itself. Pulse was firm and steady at seventy-four. Head on his chest, she listened to the regular thump of his heart. Since it was handily placed, he ran his fingers through her hair.

  He said, ‘There’s something to be said for old-fashioned methods. Stay where you are, I like it.’

  Reassured, she got to her feet. Basic responses were A-Okay. ‘What happened to you, then?’

  ‘It was like grabbing a live power cable.’ He looked at his hands. They were unmarked. ‘Very high voltage and a tiny current. I guess it was enough to beat a path along nerve circuits. One thing’s for sure. Unless we can switch them to Non Op, we can’t get near these zombies.’

  Bergman said, ‘We tried to raise Alan. No dice. There’s
heavy screening.’

  Koenig swung his legs off the couch and stood up. He asked Helena, ‘Can we drink the water?’

  ‘I think so. It’s not possible to be sure without laboratory tests, but as far as I can tell, it’s all right.’

  She filled a goblet and handed it to him and took a bright green fruit, the size of an apple and held it out. ‘These are good. A bit like mango. Very filling and sustaining.’

  The flesh was yellow and tasted of yesterday’s custard, but she was right on the main count, it was very satisfying. He said, ‘This is fresh fruit. It must be local grown. So not all the surface is acid lichen and mountain.’

  Bergman said, ‘Unless there’s a deep-freeze store. The original humans would carry an emergency stock. The androids don’t need it, so it’s there for visitors.’

  Koenig went on another tack. ‘You were all watching the route when we came back here. Any observations?’

  Morrow said, ‘It was quick, like the trip up. Nothing to see. The council meets in a penthouse suite. I’d say this was the admin silo for the human operators.’

  ‘They came from Copreon, the man said. Why, for instance? And why wasn’t there a backup operation mounted from the home planet to get them out of it, when things turned sour?’

  Bergman said, ‘Could it have been a penal colony? Botany Bay? Maybe they wrote it off or stopped sending their rejects.’

  It could have developed into a long debate. Koenig walked over to the table and thumped it with a balled fist. He got attention from all hands. ‘Listen. What’s getting into us? We seem to be accepting the situation. Let’s get things clear. Pelorus is no good for Alpha. Right? Time isn’t on our side? Right? There’s only one thing we should be talking about and that’s getting back to Eagle Nine and getting the hell out of it. Take things one at a time. How do we get out of here?’

  They could have said, ‘You tell us,’ but they recognised that he had a point. Sandra did say defensively, ‘We have been looking, Commander. But there is no way.’

  ‘Take a wall each. Go over every square centimetre. There has to be a ventilation duct somewhere.’

  They went to work; animals in a strange cage scrabbling around for a way out. Koenig checked the floor area, heaving the furniture aside and knocking every tile with the butt of his laser for any change of note. The table itself was a fixture, standing on a white circular column like a flattened toadstool. On hands and knees he went methodically round it.

  Victor Bergman said, ‘There’s a hair crack round the door panel. It can’t move either way unless its pulled out or sunk in. If we could force it back . . .’

  Koenig lifted his head to hear the broadcast and rapped it smartly on the underside of the table. It did nothing to improve his temper. He hauled himseif to his feet and fairly snapped out, ‘What are we waiting for then? Use the settle as a ram.’

  Backed to the opposite wall the three men had a seven-meter clear run from the leading end of the ram to the notional door. Koenig said, ‘Helena, Sandra, one either side. Watch for a movement; shove the panel out of line if you can. Decide which way you’re going to move it or we’ll all be in a bugger’s muddle.’

  Sandra’s expressive eyes met Helena’s with womanly sympathy. The top hand was showing a coarse streak. To show him the way to get goodwill and co-operation, she said formally, ‘Shall I push towards you. Dr. Russell, or will you push towards me?’

  ‘I don’t mind.’

  Morrow said, ‘For God’s sake, Sandra, stop clowning about. This thing weighs a ton. Keep your head out of the way or we’ll crack it like an addled egg.’

  Koenig counted down and shoved off from the rear wall with a total mobilisation of every fraction of urge he could get from his motor. The thud of impact, when it came, sent a quiver through the whole fabric of the room and the translucent cover of the ceiling port burst from its catch and swung down on a hinge. The shock jarred Koenig’s arms to the shoulder and the heavy settle was out of control and falling to the deck. He yelled ‘Get clear’ and lost his footing.

  Morrow had plucked Sandra out of danger by a nanosecond and was flat on his back with the communications expert sitting on his chest. Bergman had tripped over his legs and was picking himself up from the corner. Helena, still batting and with both palms pushing at the panel, said, ‘We did it, John! It’s moved!’

  Koenig clawed himself over the wreck of the settle to get to her side. She was the soul of truth. The impact had depressed the panel against some system of holding springs and the lateral shove had wedged it behind the line of cladding. There was a hand’s-breadth gap. They were making progress. But from somewhere overhead there was an urgent bleep on orchestral ‘A.’ An alarm had been triggered.

  Morrow had rolled clear of his elegant burden and joined Koenig at the breach. Fingers hooked in the gap, they hauled away against the inertia of machinery set to keep the seals on. When they had half a metre of free space, Koenig gritted out, ‘For God’s sake, move it along. Out.’

  Once through, Bergman wrenched off the broken end of the settle and wedged it in the gap. Koenig said, ‘Now you, Paul.’

  Without the extra power, the material of the wedge creaked and began to deform. Koenig had to squeeze to get himself through and as he was hauled free, the closing gear developed full power and the moving edge sliced through the obstacle.

  Morrow said, ‘They take a chance with their doors. Anybody hanging about could get himself cut off in his prime.’

  Koenig said, ‘Search about. There has to be another way down. They can’t believe the elevator service never fails.’

  Sandra Benes found it and when she had it she was incredulous. There was a semicircular extension on the left side of the elevator trunk. She had released a section of cladding and hinged it open. ‘Here, Commander. But, surely, this can’t be all?’

  It was no more than a conduit carrying heavy cables clewed to its walls and a line of handle grabs going down into far distance.

  Victor Bergman said, ‘One thing, John, I don’t see an android getting down there.’

  There was a slight vibration through the housing. A cage was on the way. Koenig said, ‘Get inside and start moving down. Paul. Then Sandra. Victor. Helena. Make it quick.’

  Beside the elevator trunk was a small console with a selector panel. He treated it to a long burst of laser fire and saw it glow white hot. It retained its overall shape, but he reckoned any circuitry under the hood would be in spasm. Ear to the shaft, he listened. There was no sound. The oncoming cage had stopped. Last in the conduit, he pulled the curved panel back in place. There was a dim light from small inspection lamps set every fifty metres. The tube plunged down as though it had no end and would finally make out in the mantle of the planet.

  Koenig counted two hundred grabs and reckoned they had dropped all of a hundred metres. He called down, ‘Hold it there.’ There was an inspection lamp close to his head and he could see the outline of a hinged panel. Making no noise at all, he worked open the inside catch and pushed the door open a crack. There was not a lot to see. From the restricted viewpoint, it appeared to be a landing much like the one they had left. He opened wider and two things happened at once. Below the lower edge he saw the heels of two metal feet and the door itself hit a stop.

  Reaction times tried and tested, in a service where a nanosecond one way or the other could mean disaster, he was acting on a gut message that sidetracked his computer. Grabbing for the hold-fast over his head, he jackknifed with both feet together and slammed into the partly open door.

  The surge of back pressure came near to dislocating every bone in his back but the door opened for a full due and he could see the android struggling to stay upright as the gyro stabilisers in his legs raced into overload.

  Koenig used the purchase he had to swing his own legs over the coaming and project himself out of the trap. The android’s back was plain to see and the plate as he remembered it on Gregor. Tearing his laser from its clip, he stabbed with t
he finger guard into the small recess and the plate flipped open. There was no time to sort out the switchgear. He fired once and had to sidestep as the tin man dropped like a felled chimney.

  Helena Russell’s head was looking over the coaming, eyes full of alarm. Koenig knelt down, panting like a dog. He said, ‘Tell them to come out. We need a break.’

  Bergman and Morrow turned the android until they could see its back. The controls had fused in a lump but there was a bright tag on the inside of the cover plate with a a legend in the unfamiliar characters and the pictograph of a mine shaft with branching tunnels.

  Although out of programme, there was still movement inside the torso as the power pack continued to deliver. The head began to turn from side to side.

  Hand to her mouth, Sandra said, ‘It’s horrible. It’s like a wounded man.’

  Koenig was looking for information. He picked a spot on the back of the head and fired a short burst. This time there was no force field to deflect the beam. The metal boiled and opened in a ragged hole.

  But the android’s locomotory mechanisms went solo. With jerky unco-ordinated movements it struggled to its feet. Arms flailing, head wagging, it was off on a random journey that drove it along the lobby to a floor-to-ceiling window that sealed off one end.

  It was three hundred kilograms of metal, shoved along by legs pumping up and down like pistons. The glass hardly checked it. There was a characteristic scatter of nodule fragments, a man-sized hole and fresh air wafting in. The thud of its arrival at ground level was almost instantaneous.

  Bergman, as surprised as the next man, was still a mathematician at heart. He said, ‘That’s close. Not more than ten metres. We’re at ground level.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Other calculations were racing through Koenig’s personal computer as he leaned out into natural sunlight and looked at the ground below. He was trying to judge how far they had come on the shuttle and the best guess he could make was round the five kilometre mark. That was straight through the heart of the mountain. Overland would be longer. But surely not more than ten? They could do it in two hours at a forced march and be outside the direct control of Gregor’s technical network.