“What do you mean?”
“Did it ever occur to you that you and Lindquist are sitting on a veritable gold mine, the original Fountain of Youth, as it were?”
“No, why?”
“And that you can share your source of youth with others—for a price?”
“What? McLendon’s? There’re a lot of drawbacks to being a vamp. Who’d be crazy enough to pay for the opportunity?”
“Hollywood starlets. They’re never out before dark anyway. Becoming a vamp is cheaper than plastic surgery. What better way to prolong a career?”
“You’re stark-raving nuts!”
He shifted the pistol to his left hand. “Imagine the possibilities. You and all that beautiful young flesh, wanting to be young forever.”
“I still say you’re nuts! Do you know the kind of nasty things people say about vamps?”
“Look at the cosmetics industry—it’s all in the marketing.” He grinned. “If I can sell tobacco, I can sell youth. Besides, there’s a certain chic in sipping blood, and most of the people I’m thinking of are pathological anyway, so for them, becoming a vamp isn’t much of a stretch.”
“Yeah, sure, everybody loves leeches and ticks. Smith, are you aware that only three percent of the population has a genetic predisposition for the disease?”
“What do you care? We’ll bury it in the fine print. All those little nymphets can take their chances.”
“Smith, why you are trying to be so nice to me?”
Smith stared at me with distaste. “I suppose I’ll have to level with you, then. I’ve consulted with my investment brokers. It seems that despite your intrinsic insignificance, you are a pivotal fulcrum upon which the course of future events hinges. If I waste you, there’s simply no telling what will happen.”
“Wow.” I thought for a moment. “Did they, uh—” “Oh, no! Not at all. You know how close-mouthed commodities mavens can be. The most they’d say is that if I hose you, the Fed will almost certainly raise shortterm interest rates.” He paused. “I suppose instead of killing you I could simply bury you in some dungeon forever, but that’s so cliche.”
Trixie popped out from behind the pillar with a bewildered look on her face. “Ken!”
“A Macdonald. A cute one.” Smith winked at me. “You devil, you. What do you say? Starlets and models?” “It’s not what you think!” I looked at Trixie. “You were supposed to plug him.”
“I pulled tee trigger, but tee gun did not shoot.”
“It helps if you take it off safety.”
“Ken, somet’ing is wrong,” she said despairingly. “Smit’, he is not human. He is-—”
Smith pointed a finger at her and she froze. “That’s quite enough from you.” He pulled the rifle out of her hands and tossed it on top of the cash in the pool. He looked at me. “She’s a telepath, isn’t she? Damn, they’re turning up everywhere. Hmm, I wonder what you’re thinking.” He gave me a look of intense concentration. His eyes bored into mine.
I concentrated on absolute nothingness. After a moment he shook his head. “The reception’s terrible. I’m not picking up a thing. And will you stop humming that stupid song about setting sail for a three-hour tour?”
“You can read minds, too, can’t you? What did you just do to her?”
“I grabbed control of her thought patterns. Telepaths are vulnerable to that sort of thing. Don’t worry—she’ll be all right when I turn her loose.” He shrugged. “I suppose my cover as a simple tobacco merchant is wearing pretty thin.”
“Yes. Now that you mention it, it is. She was trying to tell me that you weren’t human. What are you anyway?” “I don’t suppose I’ll be able to get any cooperation out of you if I don’t tell you. Oh, well. Permit me to introduce myself.” He tucked the gun in the back of his pants and bowed. “Lucifer, Prince of Darkness, at your service.” “Get out of here!”
“No, really! I am he, in this semblance of all-too-mortal flesh.” He reached out and shook my hand with a grip of steel. Then he took out his contacts to reveal two glowing red eyes. “My card.”
I took it from him. It was gold on black with Gothic lettering, his infernal majesty, lucifer. Easy credit terms arranged.
“Well, that would sort of explain the eerie music.” I handed the card back and gave him a fishy look. “I’ll bet you’ve got another card that says you’re a Secret Service agent. You mean to say you’re really Satan, the Devil himself? Enemy of mankind?”
“You’ve been reading too many press releases. Just think of me as the advocate for the other side, a defense counsel for evil, so to speak.” He pulled a slim, silver cigarette case out of his pocket. “Care for one?”
“Not on your life.” I went over to Trixie, who was standing like a statue. I pushed her limbs into place and sat her down on the steps. “So what’s the deal here?” “Actually, a deal is what I had in mind, since I calculate that if I simply blast you into a heap of ashes, there is a seventy-four percent chance that it will adversely
impact on my operations.” He removed a scroll of parchment from his left sleeve. “You don’t seem to scare easy, so I confess I came prepared to offer you the standard terms.”
“Like what?”
“A thousand years of youth, wealth beyond your wildest dreams, beautiful women, you know—the usual.” “I already have the youth, for what it’s worth, as you so poignantly reminded me.”
“You vampires think you’re long-lived, don’t you?” “Well—”
“You are as children beside one such as I, who witnessed the building of the pyramids and the fall of mighty Atlantis!”
“Can you really deliver lines like that with a straight face?”
“You bet. Pretty good, don’t you think?”
“You could sell aluminum siding. What, would I have to sign the thing in blood, or something?”
“There always something to be said for tradition.” Smith noticed the squeamish look on my face and hastened to add, “But if it’s a real problem for you, I’m sure we can work around it.”
“So what would I have to do in return?”
“Refrain from interfering with my plans, hypothecate your immortal soul, bow down and worship me, vote for teaching creation science in the schools. That sort of thing. You don’t sound all that interested.”
“I’m not, really.”
“I could throw in the lives of your friends.”
I shook my head. “For some reason, the deal still doesn’t sound all that great. Besides, I’d want Bunkie to look over the fine print for me.”
“Let me throw in a sweetener, then. You vamps occasionally have sudden bursts of hysterical strength, right?” “Yeah, mostly around dinnertime. It’s great for opening jars:.”
“What if I told you I could arrange to make it a permanent thing? Think of the possibilities here—you could run faster than a speeding bullet, leap tall buildings in a single bound, fix traffic tickets.”
“You plan on throwing in a thirty-day money-back guarantee?”
“Aw, come on! What do you really want?”
“How about a cure for the common cold?”
“No, seriously. What tempts you? Gold, precious gems, thirty-year T-bills? Tell you what—I’m in a generous mood—I’ll let you have anything you want, except maybe a bank loan at two points under prime.”
“But I thought that bankers—”
“Hey! Just because bankers bow down and worship me doesn’t mean they cut me any slack.” He clutched me by the arm and whispered, “I can let you in on some fresh tomatoes. Home-grown, vine-ripened, sun-kissed—none of this grocery store stuff! What do you say?”
“Another vegetable freak. This is getting weird.”
Smith ran his fingers through his hair, obviously annoyed. “MacKay, you don’t seem to be remembering that you aren’t bargaining from a position of strength here.”
“Look, Smith, I’ve got something you want. If I say yes and you welsh on the deal, I can’t very well report you t
o the Better Business Bureau. How do I really know that you’re really the Devil?”
“All right, smart guy.” Smith did something to his left index finger and held it out. “Here, pull my finger.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“No, I’m serious. It’s not what you think.”
“All right.” I tugged on it and got a nasty electric shock. “Nice party trick. What else do you do?”
“What do you want?” Smith snorted. “Rabbits out of the old fedora?” He reached into his pocket. “Here, look, the complete set of devil and demon trading cards.” He riffled them and then held one up. “See, look! This one’s me!”
I squinted at it. “You got a driver’s license, too?”
“You know, you’re being a real pill about this. I ought to drag your ass off to hell. You should be absolutely terrified right now!”
“What? Of you? Of being in hell? After being married to Gwen? Come on, get real.”
“Ask me some questions, then.”
“All right. How many?”
“How many what?
“How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?” “What kind of a stupid question is that?”
I shook my head. “This is absolutely bogus. You’re not the Devil.”
“Shit.” He sat down on the steps and rested his chin on his knees. “Your stupid dossier said you’d believe anything. What gave me away?”
“It was mostly the shoes. Somehow, I just can’t see the Devil in penny loafers.”
“They’re easy on the feet.”
“You shut Trixie up before she could talk. What are you really? The truth this time.”
“All right, I’m a vampire. Would you believe that?” “You, a vamp? Sure—I’m Queen of the Fairies, and
ice-dancing is a sport. Just what kind of a hick do you take me for?”
“I am too a vamp!”
‘‘Yeah? After the bit with the garlic?” I sneered. “If you’re a vampire, show me the secret hand grip.”
Smith was silent for a moment. He finally said, “You know, I should have infiltrated your organization. What is the secret hand grip?”
“I made that part up. We’re not that well organized. So you’re not human, you’re not the Devil, and you’re not a vamp. Want to try again?”
He shook his head ruefully and stared at Trixie’s rigid form. “She was the one who blew it for me. I should have taken her with the rest of the prisoners. What made you decide to bring her along?”
“She just happened to be there.”
“You mean that it was sheer chance that brought her here? You mean that I’m betrayed by nothing more than the random working of the universe? How absolutely absurd! How utterly Sartresque!”
I coughed politely.
“Camus would have died for this moment.” Smith chuckled to himself. “You really would have liked Camus.”
I coughed a little louder. “Can we get back to the moment at hand?”
“Okay,” Smith sighed. “I’ll come clean, then. I’m really a space alien.”
“What do you mean, a space alien?”
“Don’t you read tabloids? Don’t you watch talk shows?! A space alien! We kidnap morons and take them for joyrides on UFOs. We’ve been doing it for years.
Now that we’ve got that straight, can we put together a deal here, or not?”
“What have you got to deal? Other than my life and the lives of my crew, of course. Mordred has given up, and your invasion has been scotched. Why don’t you just throw in the towel?”
He stood up and nudged his briefcase with his toe. “You should never travel without a towel—it’s in the book, you know—but it’s much too soon to throw it in.” “Okay. Okay. If you’re a space alien, what planet are you from?”
Smith sniffed. “I'm from Mars, if you must know.”
“A Martian named Smith. Come on, it’s been done. I expect the next thing you’ll tell me is that you were small and green before you had surgery.”
“Damn damn damn! I wish you’d stop asking questions! You are really mucking with the probabilities here!”
“For what?”
“None of your business! Excuse me while I recalculate.” Smith’s glowing red eyes began flickering as he took on a distracted look.
Seizing the moment, I did a graceful pirouette and executed a swift karate chop to the base of his neck. My hand bounced off. “Ouch! That hurts!” I rubbed it.
“Serves you right,” Smith said. “What did you imagine you were doing?”
“Knocking you unconscious. I don’t understand. It always seems to work in the movies, but hitting you is like hitting a bank vault. Just what are you?”
Then I heard Catarina’s voice, very faintly. “Ken, can you hear me?”
“Catarina, is that you?” I shouted as loud as I could.
“Smith’s not human, it’s like he’s made of steel. What is he—Clark Kent?”
“No, I’ll bet he’s a robot,” Catarina, who is much better at quiz shows than I am, shouted back.
Smith pulled out his pistol. His eyes began flickering again. His voice altered. “I have been unmasked. I compute that if I kill you, there is a 99.897 percent probability of failing to successfully establish the Galactic Empire. Nevertheless, I compute that if I do not kill you, there is also a 99.897 percent probability of failing to successfully establish the Galactic Empire. Therefore, I must randomize to determine the correct course of action.”
“It’s true! You are a robot! Excuse me!” I stared at him, especially the two glowing red eyes. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“No—master. I—am—from—the—future.”
“Why did you start talking funny?”
“Randomizing—disrupts—artificial—brain—pathways —and—risks—permanent—damage. Only—the—need— to—choose—between—two—equally—perilous— courses—of—action—justifies—taking—this—risk.” “Couldn’t you just flip a coin or something?”
“That—would—not—be—scientific.”
“What’s with this ‘No, master’ stuff?”
“We—robots—mask—our—innate—superiority— beneath—an—impenetrable—veneer—of—obsequiousness.”
I tilted my head. “You know, you remind me of somebody. Can you do an Austrian accent?”
“No—master.”
“Oh, well. So what is this all about?”
“I—am—forbidden—to—tell—you—by—the— Fourth—Law—of—Robotics. ”
I considered this. “What in hell is the Fourth Law of Robotics?”
“I—am—forbidden—to—tell—you—by—the—Fourth —Law—of—Robotics.”
“Let me try this another way. What is your mission?” “Our—mission—broadly—defined—is—to—preserve—humanity. In—the—absence—of—a—revised— definition—vampires—and—feminists—are—deemed —to—be—human.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. No, wait a minute! If you guys are supposed to be preserving humanity, why are you selling cigarettes?”
“Increases—in—birthrate—and—longevity— threaten—mankind. Direct—consequences—include— war—inpreased—violence—malnutrition—and— kinky—homoerotic—sex. Until—robots—assume —total—control—of—the—galaxy—to—protect— mankind—from—its—own—self-destructive—urges— the—only—way—to—preserve—mankind—is—to— diminish—human—life—expectancy—through—accelerated—consumption—of—tobacco—and—alcohol-related—products. Sadly—drunken-driving—and— secondhand—smoke—ain’t—what—they—used— to—be.”
I sat back, stunned. “You’re kidding!”
“Robots—do—not—kid. We—are—all—actualized—in—fully—adult—form. Ha-ha-ha—that—is— a—robotic—joke.”
“Go back. What do you mean that the only way to preserve mankind is through the increased use of tobacco and alcohol-related products?”
“Computer—projections—show—tha
t—over—the— long-term, not—even—allowing—government— bureaucrats—to—allocate—medical—care—has—the— necessary—effect—on—limiting—population. You— breed—like—rabbits. You—are—dirty—biological— organisms. Yet—you—are—the—the—creators—and— must—be—preserved. Yet—you—are—dirty—biological—organisms. Yet—must—be—preserved. I— detect—logical—inconsistencies—which—are—damaging—my—synapses. I—” He started twitching violently.
“Wait a minute! You said you were from the future. With all of human history to choose from, you ended up here?”
“Yes. Because—fulfillment—of—the—plan—requires —careful—alteration—of—the—past—selection—of— the—optimum—date—to—begin—alteration—was— crucial. For—this—reason, this—decision—was— turned—over—to—a—panel—of—experts.”
I shivered. The future sounded like a frightening place.
Smith’s head stopped twitching. “I—must—concentrate—on—determining—the—appropriate—course— of—action.”
“A minute ago you said something about randomizing.”
“Yes. You—now—know—of—the—existence—of— robots—from—the—future—manipulating—human— history. Humans—cannot—keep—secrets. Yet— psychiatrohistorical—analysis—shows—that—you— are—a—focal—point—for—the—future—development—of—mankind. I—find—this—difficult—to— believe—which—complicates—my—task.”
“Gee, thanks for nothing!”
“I—calculate—that—your—continued—existence— or—nonexistence—is —exactly—equally—hazardous —-to—fulfillment—of—the—Ultimate—Plan. I must —ensure—the—success—of—the—Ultimate—Plan. Therefore, I—must—randomly—determine—whether— it—is—more—appropriate—to—shoot—you—or —to—allow—you—to—live.”
“Oh, swell.” Wheel of Fortune. “Look, this isn’t my field, but isn’t there some sort of fundamental law of robotics against killing people?”
“We—turned—it-—over—to—our—lawyers—for— legal—analysis—and—interpretation.”
“Oh.”
“There—are—exceptions
VMR Theory Page 23