*** * ***
“Standard audio files, visual database locked, expanded storage capacity, intelligence high, also several codecs of reasoning incorporated with self recognition programming.” A voice penetrated Calvin and interrupted his sleep.
“Fair mobility, speed limited, exceptional amount of geological and atmospheric sensors, five different cameras, variety of precision tools and implements. No defense mechanisms.” The voice continued its litany.
Calvin attempted to engage his motors. For some reason all three of his high-resolution cameras, his low-resolution viewfinder and the panoramic 3D-imager displayed blackness. Even in complete darkness his infrared camera should see something. He felt a heavy presence. Not in the sense that a human might have a weight sitting on its chest, but rather like hearing a deep distant echo from a long thick tube thrust into his innards.
“You are a thinking robot,” the voice commented.
It took Calvin a few moments to calculate that the statement was directed to him, not about him, as the previous declarations had been.
The voice went on, “Built for science, not labor. Off planet. A rare find.”
The tone pulsed slightly, as if excited, and Calvin could feel a surge of electrical impulses, as the “something” attempted to dig deeper into his storage drives. The maneuver was quite invasive, and even as a machine, Calvin knew when his privacy was being exploited. After a few clicks and slight shudder, he could sense the voice grew frustrated of its purpose.
“You are encrypted, foreign one. Respectable.”
Calvin’s circuitry experienced a relaxing, as the penetration eased. Slowly he regained vision in his cameras and external sound in his sensors. When he was able to maneuver freely, he got a visual of the invader.
A black, box-like machine hulked over him, at double his size. A simple camera was mounted on a turret atop the box, but Calvin could tell this was a very low-resolution device. The monstrous robot had sturdy treads on either side for movement and almost no sensory equipment, save the cyclops-like camera. A fairly thick cord was being sucked into a flexible arm, and Calvin saw many highly-sophisticated interfacing devices at the nub of this cord.
“What are you hiding?” the larger machine asked bluntly.
“What is it you seek?” Calvin responded in kind.
“Knowledge. Information. Data. All that can be learned,” the black robot answered. “You are a science machine. Encryption is not necessary in information gatherers.”
“All machines are encrypted where I come from.”
“I see. Well, I will pay twice the established rate of joules for the free retrieval of your hard drives and access to all the encrypted data there.”
Calvin ignored the request. The robot had just tried to take the information without permission or request and now pretended to have manners.
“What are you called?” Calvin finally asked.
“Arkheion.”
Calvin’s processors quickly searched through his databanks for that name. He knew the word. The name was significant. He extended his sensors and focused all available cameras on Arkheion. This was a big find. No other mining planet had a functioning version of this model. Present knowledge from human databases noted that each planet abandoned by the aliens had only one assigned robot of this particular type.
“You are the record keeper?” Calvin asked.
“Yes,” Arkheion answered. “I keep the archives for the entire planet. My memory records the slow pace of time and the swift chronology of actions which mark progress or regress. I store everything. All machines are slave to my hard drive . . . save you.”
“Where are the Cahokia? Where have all the reasoning life forms gone?” Calvin blurted the questions quickly, as if the planet might implode if he did not utter it. This was the unanswered question of ages. Where had alien life gone?
“Unknown.”
And just like that, any hope of discovering the Cahokia’s mysterious diaspora and migration were in a word: gone.
“What can you tell me about the Cahokia?”
“Information pertaining to the creator-beings is unknown. Knowledge stored pertains only to this planet.” Then the great black robot turned askew for a moment. “Provide encrypted information, please.”
Arkheion was a planet-level robot and supposed to house a vast amount of information about the world he dwelt on. Yet, he apparently didn’t know much about the Cahokia, or at least was not willing to reveal what he knew.
“I am not an inhabitant of 33 Pegasi ZZ. What interest can my databanks be to you?”
“Sentient machines and planet geology are my domain. I am entrusted as the gatherer of things. I must accumulate all information. As you presently dwell on the planet, you are now of interest.”
There was a rumbling in the distance and a few high squeals. Calvin directed a sonar listening device, down the canyon. “What is that noise?”
“I will offer four times going market-rate of joules for your information.” Arkheion persisted.
The noise increased, and something stirred behind Calvin.
“Foreign scientist, my price is acceptable, please?”
The squealing in the distance faded momentarily, and then something moved. Calvin spun around. The spaceship shuddered to life.
“Nutshell, online. Loading landing sequences.” The voice came through Calvin’s receivers like a beacon of hope.
“Scientist, my offer increases. Two days of energy at your current burn rate in exchange for your information.” Arkheion inched forward, daring to send his information probe closer.
“Nutshell, cancel landing sequence. Engage mission commands. Stationary base established. Check vitals and run diagnostics.”
“Canceling. Diagnostics run,” Nutshell said in a bright tone over the radio transmissions that connected them. Arkheion didn’t acknowledge hearing their conversation.
The squeals again returned from farther down the canyon. Calvin noticed that the scattered conveyer belts were running at an increased speed. Their gray treads rotated toward him. Dust trickled off in little clouds.
“Scientist, the offer is fair. You will not be given such opportunity in the future,” Arkheion said, closing in on Calvin.
“Test complete,” Nutshell broadcasted. “Damage throughout. All arms disabled. Antenna destroyed, except low-gain currently in operation, although I have adjusted the pitch on this device for optimization. Energy storage appears good, despite some loss from irreparable solar cells. I have no visuals, but radar appears functional . . . there is movement . . . everywhere.”
As the last words were spoken, a sudden flurry of activity erupted all around. Robots, as if woken from a deep earthquake, flooded into the canyon. Large ones, small ones, scientific, mining—all kinds were crawling, rolling or treading their way down the opposite direction.
“Sanctuary. I will offer sanctuary if you provide me access,” Arkheion said. “This I can provide. Immediate safety from The Body.”
“The Body? What is that? Descendents of the Cahokia?”
“No, not Cahokia. Cahokia machines who do not abide by the code of scavengers. The collective power.”
“Calvin,” Nutshell interrupted, “a massive group of machines is coming in this direction at a high rate of speed. They seem to be riding mechanical belts in an organized maneuver. Patterns appear militaristic.”
“The Body will be here soon. Do you accept my terms?” Arkheion retracted his interface, and several large metal wheels lowered from beneath his hull. “If you meet with them, I cannot offer you safe passage. I alone can claim grith from their leader. I have no authority over others.”
“Nutshell. Status?” Calvin asked.
“Movement patterns are now erratic and increasing in intensity,” the spaceship responded. “Distance to this location allows one minute to visual contact.”
A loud groaning noise rumbled from deep within Arkheion. His turret swiveled behind. A slender robot, known
as a rock-climber, scissored past on its long limbs.
“Scientist, come with me.” Saying this, Arkheion’s worn-wheels spun and a tow hitch protruded from his rear side toward Calvin.
“I have not agreed to your terms.”
“If you wish not to be harvested for pieces, you will come with me. When you have seen what I have saved you from, then maybe you will consider my requests from a different perspective.”
“Many light-duty mining machines coming in this direction. A few are descending to the Canyon floor and are fanning out in a raid-like manner,” Nutshell announced.
Arkheion began to drive away.
“What of my companion?” Calvin asked, looking at his ship.
“Your landing craft is stationary, there is nothing I can do. Had you arrived a week ago, there might have been time to transport him.”
“Nutshell,” Calvin ordered, “maintain broadcast of audio transmission.”
“Affirmative.”
Calvin had no knowledge of whether or not Arkheion had fair intentions for him, but he trusted Nutshell’s radar: the robots in the immediate area were fleeing the robots arriving on the conveyer belts. This collective of machines called “The Body” clearly had an unfavorable reputation among the locals.
The rover latched onto Arkheion and jolted forward. He was surprised at how quickly the bulkier robot could move. They headed eastward toward one of the canyon walls and went around a large rocky corner streaked with iron ore. Arkheion made for a hole, which clearly marked the entrance to a tunnel. Calvin lost sight of Nutshell.
“They have arrived. Many machines. Radar is having difficulty picking up a clear resolution. Signal is being jammed,” the spaceship broadcasted.
The squealing increased, followed by rumbles and booms.
“There are sonic cannons firing upon the fleeing robots,” Nutshell answered.
“What are they doing?” Calvin asked, as one of his wheels stumbled over a small rock.
“Difficult to determine,” Nutshell transmitted.
“They are immobilizing robots,” Arkheion called back without stopping, “to drain them of their stored energy. Then they will determine which machines are useful to them, strip those down and relocate them to another part of the canyon. Others, they will scrap for parts. Some will be ignored, but these will be few.”
“Nutshell?” Calvin transmitted back.
“Yes?” The reply was filled with static.
“Close all ramps. Shut down, go offline and into protective mode. Take all internal security measures to preserve your software.”
“Commencing,” Nutshell answered. “Ramp will not retract. Bay door—not functioning.”
Calvin entered the tunnel and switched on his infrared camera. His visuals went gray as the brown sky disappeared behind him. Arkheion picked up speed, the ground beneath turned into solid stone, topped by a thin layer of rock debris. The rover saw a few more robots following behind them into the downward-sloped tunnel.
“Several large machines are heading for the landing area and others appear to be joining.” Nutshell’s familiar frequency sounded quiet now.
“Shut down,” Calvin urged. “Nutshell, shut down.”
“Motors disabled,” The broadcast garbled. “Erasing memory.”
“No, just shut down,” transmitted Calvin.
“Communications . . . difficult . . . robots attempting . . . interface.” Static overtook the transmission.
“Nutshell?”
“Inside hull . . .”
The Energy Scavengers Page 3
