Lucky Starr And The Big Sun Of Mercury ls-4

by Isaac Asimov

  Lucky thought: To break the First Law would be more disturbing still.

  Deliberately he stepped out of the shadow into the sunlight.

  He said to the robot, who followed, "What is your serial number?"

  "Very well, RL-726, you understand I am a man?"

  "Yes."

  "I am not equipped to withstand the heat of Mercury's Sun."

  "Nor am I," said the robot.

  "I realize that," said Lucky, thinking of the robot's near-fall a few minutes earlier. "Nevertheless, a man is much less equipped for it than is a robot. Do you understand that?"

  "Yes."

  "Now, then, listen. I want you to stop your destructive activities, and I want you to tell me who ordered you to destroy equipment."

  "I am instructed… "

  "If you do not obey me," said Lucky loudly, "I will remain here in the Sun until I am killed and you will have broken the First Law, since you would have allowed me to be killed when you could have stopped it."

  Lucky waited grimly. A robot's statement could not be accepted as evidence, of course, in any court, but it would assure him that he was on the right track if it were to say what he expected it to.

  But the robot said nothing. It swayed. One eye blinked out suddenly (more imperfection!), then came to life. Its voice sounded in a wordless squawk, then it said in an almost drunken mumble, "I will carry you to safety."

  "I would resist," said Lucky, "and you would have to harm me. If you answer my question, I will return to the shade of my own accord, and you will have saved my life without any damage to me at all."

  Silence.

  Lucky said, "Will you tell me who ordered you to destroy equipment?"

  And suddenly the robot lunged forward, coming to within two feet of Lucky before stopping. "I told you not to ask that question."

  Its hands moved forward as though to seize Lucky but did not complete the motion.

  Lucky watched grimly and without concern. A robot could not harm a human being.

  But then the robot lifted one of those mighty hands and put it to its head, for all the world as though it were a man with a headache.

  Headache!

  A sudden thought stabbed at Lucky. Great Galaxy! He'd been blind, stupidly, criminally blind!

  It wasn't the robot's legs that were out of order, nor its voice, nor its eyes. How could the heat affect them? It was-it had to be-the positronic brain itself that was affected; the delicate positronic brain subjected to the direct heat and radiation of the Mercurian Sun for how long? Months?

  That brain must be partially broken down already.

  If the robot had been human, one would say he was in one of the stages of mental breakdown. One might say he was on the road to insanity.

  A mad robot! Driven mad by heat and radiation!

  How far would the Three Laws hold in a broken-down positronic brain?

  And now Lucky Starr stood there, threatening a robot with his own death, while that same robot, nearly mad, advanced toward him, arms outstretched.

  The very dilemma in which Lucky had placed the robot might be adding to that madness.

  Cautiously, Lucky retreated. He said, "Do you feel well?"

  The robot said nothing. Its steps quickened.

  Lucky thought: If it's ready to break the First Law, it must be on the point of complete dissolution. A positronic brain would have to be in pieces to be capable of that.

  Yet, on the other hand, the robot had endured for months. It might endure for months more.

  He talked in a desperate attempt to delay matters and allow time for more thought. He said, "Does your head ache?" "Ache?" said the robot. "I do not understand the meaning of the word."

  Lucky said, "I am growing warm. We had better retire to the shadow."

  No more talk of heating himself to death. He retreated at a half-run now.

  The robot's voice rumbled. "I have been told to prevent any interference with the orders given me."

  Lucky reached for his blaster and he sighed. It would be unfortunate if he were forced to destroy the robot. It was a magnificent work of man, and the Council could investigate its workings with profit. And to destroy it without even having obtained the desired information was repugnant to him. Lucky said, "Stop where you are." The robot's arms moved jerkily as it lunged, and Lucky escaped by a hair as he floated away in a side-wise twist, taking the fullest advantage of Mercury's gravity.

  If he could maneuver his way into the shadow; if the robot followed him there…

  The coolness might calm those disordered positronic paths. It might become tamer, more reasonable, and Lucky might be spared the necessity of its destruction. Lucky dodged again, and again the robot rushed past, its metal legs kicking up spurts of black grit that settled back to Mercury promptly and cleanly since there was no atmosphere to keep it in suspension. It was an eerie chase, the tread of man and robot hushed and silent in the vacuum.

  Lucky's confidence grew somewhat. The robot's movements had grown jerkier. Its control of the gears and relays that manipulated its limbs was imperfect and growing more so.

  Yet the robot was making an obvious attempt to head him off from the shadow. It was definitely and beyond any doubt trying to kill him.

  And still Lucky could not bring himself to use the blaster.

  He stopped short. The robot stopped too. They were face to face, five feet apart, standing on the black patch of iron sulfide. The blackness seemed to make the heat all the greater and Lucky felt a gathering faintness. The robot stood grimly between Lucky and the shade.

  Lucky said, "Out of my way." Talking was difficult.

  The robot said, "I have been told to prevent any interference with the orders given me. You have been interfering."

  Lucky no longer had a choice. He had miscalculated. It had never occurred to him to doubt the validity of the Three Laws under all circumstances. The truth had come to him too late, and his miscalculation had brought him to this: the danger of his own life and the necessity of destroying a robot.

  He raised his blaster sadly.

  And almost at once he realized that he had made a second miscalculation. He had waited too long, and the accumulation of heat and weariness had made his body as imperfect a machine as was the robot's. His arm lifted sluggishly, and the robot seemed to be twice life-sized to his own reeling mind and sight.

  The robot was a blur of motion, and this time Lucky's tired body could not be driven into quick enough movement. The blaster was struck from Lucky's hand and went flying. Lucky's arm was clamped tight in the grip of one metal hand, and Ms waist was embraced by a metal arm.

  Under the best of circumstances, Lucky could not have withstood the steel muscles of the mechanical man. No human being could have. Now he felt all capacity for resistance vanish. He felt only the heat.

  The robot tightened its grip, bending Lucky backward as though he were a rag doll. Lucky thought dizzily of the structural weakness of the inso-suit. An ordinary space-suit might have protected him even against a robot's strength. An inso-suit could not. Any moment, a section of it might buckle and give.

  Lucky's free arm flailed helplessly, his fingers dragging into the black grit below.

  One thought flicked through his mind. Desperately he tried to drive his muscles into one last attempt to fend off what seemed inevitable death at the hands of a mad robot.

  12. Prelude to a Duel

  And the blaster was coming loose. In fact, it came free so suddenly that Bigman's numbed fingers nearly dropped it.

  "Sands of Mars!" he muttered, and held on.

  If he had known where in the tentacles a vulnerable spot might be, if he could have blasted any part of those tentacles without killing either Urteil or himself, his problem would have been simple. As it was, there was only one gamble, not a good one either, open to him.

  His thumb worked clumsily on the intensity control, pushing it down and down. He was getting drowsy, which was a bad sign. It had been minutes since he h
ad heard any sign of life from Urteil.

  He had intensity at minimum now. One more thing; he must reach the activator with his forefinger without dropping the blaster.

  Space! He mustn't drop it.

  The forefinger touched the proper spot and pushed against it.

  The blaster grew warm. He could see that in the dull red glow of the grid across the muzzle. That was bad for the grid since a blaster was not designed to be used as a heat ray, but to deep Space with that.

  With what strength was left him, Bigman tossed the blaster as far as he could.

  It seemed to him then as though reality wavered for a moment, as though he were on the edge of unconsciousness.

  Then he felt the first glow of warmth, a tiny leakage of heat entering his body from the laboring power-unit, and he shouted in weak joy. That heat was enough to show that power was no longer being drained directly into the voracious bodies of the heat-sucking tentacles. He moved his arms. He lifted a leg. They were free. The tentacles were gone.

  His suit-light had brightened, and he could see clearly the spot where the blaster had been thrown. The spot, but not the blaster. Where the blaster should be was a sluggishly moving mass of gray, intertwining tentacles.

  With shaky motions, Bigman snatched at Urteil's own blaster, setting it to minimum and tossing it past the position of the first. That would hold the creature if the energy of the first gave out.

  Bigman said urgently, "Hey, Urteil. Can you hear me?"

  There was no answer.

  With what strength he could muster he pulled the space-suited figure away with him. Urteil's suit-light glimmered, and his power-unit gauge showed itself as not quite empty. The temperature inside his suit should return to normal quickly.

  Bigman called the Dome. There was no other decision possible now. In their weakened condition, with their power supply low, another encounter with Mer-curian life would kill them. And he would manage to protect Lucky's position somehow.

  It was remarkable how quickly men reached them.

  With two cups of coffee and a hot meal inside him and the Dome's light and heat all about him, Bigman's resilient mind and body put the recent horror into proper perspective. It was already only an unpleasant memory.

  Dr. Peverale hovered about him with an air partly like that of an anxious mother, partly like that of a nervous old man. His iron-gray hair was in disarray. "You're sure you're all right, Bigman. No ill effects?"

  "I feel fine. Never better," insisted Bigman. "The question is, Doc, how's Urteil?"

  "Apparently he'll be all right." The astronomer's voice grew cold. "Dr. Gardoma has examined him and reported favorably on his condition."

  "Good," said Bigman almost gloatingly.

  Dr. Peverale said with some surprise, "Are you concerned for him?"

  "You bet, Doc. I've plans for him."

  Dr. Hanley Cook entered now, almost trembling with excitement. "We've sent men into the mines to see if we can round up any of the creatures. They're taking heating pads with them. Like bait to a fish, you know." He turned to Bigman. "Lucky you got away."

  Bigman's voice rose in pitch and he looked outraged, "It wasn't luck, it was brains. I figured they were after straight heat most of all. I figured it was their favorite kind of energy. So I gave it to them."

  Dr. Peverale left after that, but Cook remained behind, talking of the creatures, walking back and forth, bubbling with speculation. "Imagine! The old stories about the freezing death in the mines were true. Really true! Think of it! Just rocky tentacles acting as heat sponges, absorbing energy wherever they can make contact. You're sure of the description, Bigman?"

  "Of course I'm sure. When you catch one, see for yourself."

  "What a discovery."

  "How come they were never discovered before?" asked Bigman.

  "According to you, they blend into their environment. Protective mimicry. Then, too, they attack only isolated men. Maybe," his words grew quicker, more animated, and his long fingers intertwined and twisted with one another, "there is some instinct there, some rudimentary intelligence that kept them hidden and out of sight. I'm sure of it. It's a kind of intelligence that kept them out of our way. They knew their only safety was in obscurity, so they attack only single, isolated men. Then for thirty years or more no men appeared in the mines. Their precious kernels of unusual heat were gone, and yet they never succumbed to the temptation to invade the Dome itself. But when men finally appeared once more in the mines, that temptation was too great and one of the creatures attacked, even though there were two men there and not one. For them, that was fatal. They have been discovered."

  "Why don't they go to the Sun-side if they want energy and they're all that intelligent?" demanded Big-man.

  "Maybe that's too hot," said Cook at once.

  "They took the blaster. It was red hot."

  "The Sun-side may be too full of hard radiation. They may not be adapted to that. Or maybe there is another breed of such creature on the Sun-side. How can we know? Maybe the dark-side ones live on radioactive ores and on the coronal glow."

  Bigman shrugged. He found such speculation unprofitable.

  And Cook's line of thought seemed to change too. He stared speculatively at Bigman, one finger rubbing his chin rhythmically. "So you saved Urteil's life.'

  "That's right."

  "Well, maybe it's a good thing. If Urteil had died, they would have blamed you. Senator Swenson could have made it darned hot for you and for Starr and for the Council. No matter what explanation you gave, you would have been there when Urteil died, and that would have been enough for Swenson."

  "Listen," said Bigman, moving about uneasily, "when do I get to see Urteil?"

  "Whenever Dr. Gardoma says you may."

  "Get him on the wire and tell him to say I can, then."

  Cook's gaze remained fastened thoughtfully on the small Martian. "What's on your mind?"

  And because Bigman had to make arrangements about the gravity, he explained some of his plan to Cook.

  Dr. Gardoma opened the door and nodded to Bigman to enter. "You can have him, Bigman.," he whispered. "I don't want him."

  He stepped out, and Bigman and Urteil were alone with one another once again.

  Jonathan Urteil was a little pallid where stubble didn't darken his face, but that was the only sign of his ordeal. He bared his lips to a savage grin. "I'm in one piece, if that's what you've come to see."

  "That's what I've come to see. Also to ask you a question. Are you still full of that drivel about Lucky Starr setting up a fake Sirian base in the mines?"

  "I intend to prove it."

  "Look, you cobber, you know it's a lie, and you're going to fake proof if you can. Fake it! Now I'm not expecting you to get on your knees to thank me for saving your life… "

  "Wait!" Slowly Urteil's face flushed. "All I remember is that that thing got me first by surprise. That was accident. After that, I don't know what happened. What you say means nothing to me."

  Bigman shrieked with outrage. "You smudge of space dust, you yelled for help."

  "Where's your witness? I don't remember a thing."

  "How do you suppose you got out?"

  "I'm not supposing anything. Maybe the thing crawled away on its own. Maybe there was no thing at all. Maybe a rockfall hit me and knocked me out. Now if you came here expecting me to cry on your shoulders and promise to lay off your grafting friend, you're going to be disappointed. If you have nothing else to say, good-by."

  Bigman said, "There's something you're forgetting. You tried to kill me."

  "Where's your witness? Now if you don't get out, I'll pucker up and blow you out, midget."

  Bigman remained heroically calm. "I'll make a deal with you, Urteil. You've made every threat you can think of because you're half an inch taller than I am and half a pound heavier, but you crawled the only time I made a pass at you."

  "With a force-knife and myself unarmed. Don't forget that."

  "I say yo
u're yellow. Meet me rough and tumble, now. No weapons. Or are you too weak?"

  "Too weak for you? Two years in the hospital and I wouldn't be too weak for you!"

  "Then fight. Before witnesses! We can use the space in the power room. I've made arrangements with Hanley Cook."

  "Cook must hate you. What about Peverale?"

  "Nobody asked him. And Cook doesn't hate me."

  "He seems anxious to get you killed. But I don't think I'll give him the satisfaction. Why should I fight a half-pint of skin and wind?"

  "Yellow?"

  "I said, why? You said you were making a deal."

  "Right. You win, I don't say a word about what happened in the mines, what really happened. I win, you lay off the Council."

  "Some deal. Why should I worry about anything you can say about me?"

  "You're not afraid of losing, are you?"

  "Space!" The exclamation was enough.

  Bigman said, "Well, then?"

  "You must think I'm a fool. If I fight with you before witnesses I'll be indicted for murder. If I lean a finger on you, you're squashed. Go find yourself another way to commit suicide."

  "All right. How much do you outweigh me?"

  "A hundred pounds," said Urteil contemptuously.

  "A hundred pounds of fat," squeaked Bigman, his gnomish face screwed into a ferocious scowl. "Tell you what. Let's fight under Mercurian gravity. That makes your advantage forty pounds. And you keep your inertia advantage. Fair enough?"

  Urteil said, "Space, I'd like to give you one smash, just to plaster your big mouth over your miserable little face."

  "You've got your chance. Is it a deal?"

  "By Earth, it's a deal. I'll try not to kill you, but that's as far as I'll go. You've asked for this, you've begged for it."

  "Right. Now let's go. Let's go." And Bigman was so anxious that he hopped about as he talked, sparring a little with rapid birdlike motions of his fists. In fact, such was his eagerness for this duel that not once did he give a specific thought to Lucky nor suffer any presentiment of disaster. He had no way of telling that, some time before, Lucky had fought a more deadly duel than the one Bigman now proposed.