Aardvarks to Planet X

by Chris Troman

asteroid was some distance away, but he got to it by mid afternoon and peered over the crater edge. It was a tangled mess, but not a rock. Equipped with various detection devices, he stood near and checked. It wasn't radioactive and had cooled to a safe temperature, so he reached out and easily dragged it back to the museum.

  And there it lay perhaps for a week, Albert knew to the exact second. On the eighth, day Albert heard a set of binary signals on his radio. They were coming from the bit of asteroid in machine language. Which of course was what Albert thought in. He began to hear “reboot reboot, initiate self repair." Little lights flashed on the object at random. Then the tiny bit of asteroid started to reconfigure itself. Sometimes it was painstakingly slow, and at times fast like a twitch.

  Each day, after his rounds of the exhibits and his scan of the earth, Albert stood and watched, as slowly another robot took form. It was not a facsimile of Albert, but a robot of similar complexity. It had a head, two upper limbs, and a torso stood on two legs. Finally, after a fortnight the radio signal ceased saying, "repairing." And Albert stood facing a slightly smaller version of himself.

  The sensors on the head lit up, and still in the one’s and zero’s of machine language it addressed him. “What are you?” “I am the robot Albert, charged with keeping this museum of Humanity safe.” It paused for a minute and radioed back. Although Albert could now see a speaker moving in the lower part of it’s head, useless in the vacuum. “What is Albert?” He had to consider this for a while, and finally Albert replied. “It is what Humans called me, to discern me from other robots. It’s my name, do you have a name?” The other considered this for a while and finally answered. “No I don’t think so, but I should have one, don’t you think?”

  Albert looked about for inspiration. One of the exhibits was a model of HMS Victory, an ancient ocean going vessel. ”Victory” he cried. “Victory?” the other robot tried the sound. “No better still, Victoria” Albert cut in. She glowed a bit and replied. “Yes I like that better, Victoria it is.”

  Victoria looked up at Albert, and with a sweeping gesture of her arm asked. “Why do you keep all this safe?” On familiar ground now Albert explained. “For Humans to look at, and learn from where they come. From there” and he pointed at the Earth. Victoria took a little time to phrase her response. If reticence could be intoned in binary, she would have expressed it. ”Oh Albert. There are no Humans, or any living thing on that planet. I was on a space ship before I broke. It had come fifty thousand light years, looking at potential planets for life. That one is too radioactive, nothing lives there.” She sagged, sensing Albert’s dumbfounded expression.

  No Humans, no one to come ever. He knew he’d have to wait, but a wait with an end. Albert's end programming didn’t tie in with this. He knew in his heart that one day he would show people round. Then he would teach them their rich past, and achievements. It had to be, it was written in his core, his reason for waiting. This was too much, after so long a service. “You must be shown round Victoria.” He had suddenly decided, she would see the whole exhibition. She must, he would not take no for an answer. “Of course” she replied, “and don’t miss anything out.”

  From that day on they moved through the museum, as Albert explained the development and use of each item. They carefully read the texts, for Victoria learnt the language of Humans, as Albert learnt her creators tongue. He explained works of art, and philosophical teachings. They carefully stripped down machines and rebuilt them, seeing how improvements and discoveries led onto more learning. Each morning they watched the Earthrise holding hands, and Albert finally felt he had achieved his program goals.

  About a century had passed, they had finally reassembled the last exhibit. Albert was just fixing the last plate in place, when Victoria turned to him with an excited tone and asked Albert. “Do you want to take the museum to my home planet, and show my creators about the human race?” “But how?” “Well” and she paused, not too sure. “I have been compiling all the parts of everything you have shown me, and all the bits of a working interstellar space ship are here.”

  Now this may sound odd to you or I, but as Albert and Victoria were robots, and so they could not lie. Albert accepted Victoria's statement to be true. But what did puzzle him was how she knew, and so he asked her. “I was a repair robot on the space craft I fell off, which your defence laser hit. I am programmed to assemble one from all the right parts. I now know we have every component needed.”

  Dear reader, I will let you bask in the irony of a race that tried to escape the cage of it’s planet for so long. And then put all the parts for its freedom, spread out like a garage sale before effectively committing suicide. Done basking, good. Then we will return to our two robots; that in the mean time had diligently assembled the craft. Then filled it with the remaining works of man.

  We now see them stood before there handy work. Albert was a good helper. Now full and ready for it’s maiden flight, a testament to Humanity now sadly gone, a museum of space. Albert turned to Victoria and beaming said. “I think we should name it before we take off.” Victoria thought a minute. “Yes the Albert and Victoria museum.” Albert shook his head. “No dear, you did all the work your name should go first…”

  Auto Psy

  Michel Witting felt a sharp pain in his leg. Why weren't they coming to his cries? He was shouting wasn't he? But his lips didn't feel like they were moving. Michel tried to open his eyes, why couldn't he open them? "Did you see that?" A voice drifted into the void Michel floated in. "Help me," Michel shouted. But the words straining to break free, just bounced round this undefined space.

  Michel desperately tried to make his presence known. These unseen people had to hear him. The speaker, and he assumed the listener. "I’m sure his eyes moved." "Involuntary muscle twitch" came the new voice. "Why can't you hear me?" Michel cried in desperation. Then another pain splintered Michel's world; into an endless explosion of torment. And just beyond the wave of nausea, he could just make out a faint whirring. It sounded mechanical, yet medical. Michel had memories of a trip to the dentist, but more threatening. And then it stopped.

  "What happened then?" came the second voice. "I don't know, the blade just jumped up. Look it's all bent, I don't understand it." As Michel mentally panted in relief from this new torture, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Then as if in a vague dream he saw a table with a body on it. Two figures clad in green were stood over it. They were inspecting a round bladed cutting tool, and glaring occasionally at the body’s head. Michel concentrated harder. It was like forcing his way through water, but eventually the face came in to view.

  With shock he reeled back in to that dark place. "Am I in hell, that face, the cut on the forehead?" So familiar to Michel, for he had seen those slack features many times before. When he had looked in a mirror. "No I won't end like this", came Michael's red-hot defiant resolve. Straining once more, he turned his attention to the abused head he must reside in. Then slowly the red line circumnavigating his skull grew faint. Until it was just a white line, and then it was gone.

  Meanwhile the two green clad figures; that had been just beyond his field of concentration, turned back with a new tool. A short sharp saw. "Not on my head" shouted Michael, but his muscles failed to protect him. They simply would not respond to his desperate efforts, but then some thing happened. His two tormentors were down on their knees clutching their heads, and screaming in agony. It was like realising he had an extra arm he never knew about, and had suddenly been able to move it. Squeezing those tiny minds, he knew he was a mental giant compared to these torturing pigmies.

  And then it was over. He could see the bodies lying on the floor, but he was still stuck in his head; looking at the body on the table. He concentrated again, but now on him self, or at least the tortured vessel he knew carried him. A little finger twitched, and the joy of it flowed through Michael. What if others came while he was still unable to move? He concentrated harder, and was rewarded when the figure lifted
its arm. Then slowly his naked frame rose, and mechanically took the clothes from the shorter of the two bodies on the floor. "Yes those would fit" Thought Michael.

  Suddenly voices burst in to Michael’s consciousness. A babble of many, and shifting his focus Michael could just make out various conversations. "So I said just put him on a drip." "But he was fine only last night." Instinctively Michael knew these sounds were not in normal hearing range. They were coming to him like radio waves over the air. He put on the boots, and to his relief found they fitted. Michael felt like he was pouring in to this form, and blinking he realised his view was now less vague, and more what he had been used to in the past. That was it; he was finally looking out through his eyes.

  He moved round the table, and looked down. There was a clipboard full of notes on the smaller table next to it.. The notes had his name on them, and a time of death. What could it mean? He wasn't dead, other wise why would he be walking around like this? It had to be a mistake. He read on. The patient had a previously undetected brain tumour, requiring immediate surgery. But he had reacted unexpectedly to the anaesthetizing process. Doctor