by Simon Haynes
Thud-thud-thud!
Bernie came up behind her and indicated the desk on the end. "That is your station, Trainee Walsh."
"Cool." Harriet looked around. "Where's everyone else?"
"There is nobody else."
"I mean the other officers. Are they off duty?"
"There are no other officers."
"So … who runs this place?" asked Harriet, but she'd already guessed the improbable truth.
"I am the only Peace Force officer in this station," said Bernie, confirming her suspicions.
"But … this is the only station on the planet!" said Harriet.
"Correct."
"So it's just you?" Harriet spread her hands. "Just you, for all those millions of people?"
"Now you understand why I sent so many letters." Bernie turned on the spot, making the tiles squeal underfoot. "Come, Trainee Walsh. We have a lot to do."
Harriet followed in a daze. The letter said there was a skeleton staff running the office, but it didn't mention a single robot taking care of the entire planet. If people found out there'd be a riot! And now that she'd joined the Peace Force, that meant she'd be responsible for stopping it. It was just as well the vast majority of Dismolle's residents were old and mellow.
Bernie whisked the dust sheet off a nearby desk, sending dust billowing into the air. When it cleared, Harriet saw what had been revealed, and she could only stare in shock and surprise.
* * *
On her desk there was a big pad of lined paper with the days of the week across the top, and written above them was a line of text in the same heavy, oversized writing she'd seen on her invitation letter: Trainee Walsh's Day Planner.
Lying on the pad was a ballpoint, and scratched along the side in clumsy lettering was Trainee Walsh's Pen.
Sitting to one side was a standard commset with a small inset screen, and along the handset were the words Trainee Walsh's Phone.
Her gaze shifted to more items: a stapler, a calculator, a thinscreen, and in every case Bernie had written Harriet's name on them. Finally, sitting to one side was a white coffee mug. In a dream, Harriet picked it up and turned it slowly in her hands, but unlike all her other equipment there was no awkward lettering.
"I do not drink coffee," explained Bernie. "There can be no confusion."
Harriet set the mug down, noticing a clean spot on the desk where it had been standing for … how long? How many years had Bernie been waiting for her? How many years did it take for dust to get under a dust sheet?
"You poor, poor robot," murmured Harriet.
"I am not as poor as you," said Bernie. "For example, I can afford electricity."
"That's not what I meant, " said Harriet softly. She gestured at the desk. "You set all this up for me, and I didn't come."
"But you are here now," said Bernie, in an even tone. "Therefore it was not wasted effort."
"What if I never showed?"
"Your estimated lifespan is eighty or ninety years. At some stage, it's possible one of my letters would have got through."
"What if I emigrated to another planet?"
"You cannot afford the fare."
"Well, okay, maybe I could have hitched a ride. I've seen some fit-looking pilots around the spaceport, and they're always shipping off to somewhere new and interesting."
Bernie looked shocked. "You wish to leave Dismolle?"
"Oh, I don't know. I'm not going to live in one place forever."
"You must put all thoughts of travel out of your mind, Trainee Walsh," said Bernie severely. "An officer of the Peace Force serves the greater good. One goes where one is sent. One does not simply board passing ships and travel wherever they may take one."
Walsh detected a hint of regret. "If that's so, maybe one should quit the Peace Force."
Bernie looked horrified. "You cannot! Dismolle needs you!"
"I was only joking, Bernie."
"Jo-king?"
Walsh looked up in surprise. Sure, robots weren't exactly stand-up comedians, but they were programmed with the basics. What kind of drab and dreary existence didn't include a laugh now and then? "Please tell me you've heard of humour?"
"Hu-mour?"
Walsh opened her mouth to explain, but then something curious happened. Bernie's eyes turned bright, and a strange wheezing sound emerged from her mouth.
"Hee-hee-hee."
"Hey! Are you laughing at me?"
"Your look of confusion is most … pleasant to behold," said the robot finally.
"I'll never trust you again, you bucket of bolts." Walsh went to give Bernie a friendly punch in the shoulder, but before her fist connected the robot moved like lightning. Harriet's wrist was gripped in a massive hand, she was jerked off her feet, and before she could blink or breathe or cry out she was on the tiles with Bernie's huge knee squeezing the air from her chest, and the robot's huge fingers wrapped around her neck.
Bernie's eyeplate gleamed baleful red. "Aggressive intruder detained," she said, her voice harsh. "Do not struggle, or you will suffer the consequences."
"B-Bernie? Bernie, it's me, Harriet!"
The eye colours returned to normal, and with a swift motion the robot was back on her feet. Harriet felt her neck, but the grip had been holding her in place, not trying to choke the life out of her. Then she remembered the shattered front doors, and blanched. Bernie could easily have snipped her head off, intentional or not.
"Peace Force training, lesson one," said Bernie calmly. "It is unwise to attack a fellow officer."
"I'll try and remember that one," said Harriet, her voice shaky.
"Are you harmed?"
"Only my pride."
"Then the lesson was a good one. Now, follow me. I would like to show you around."
"All right, but just one question."
"Proceed."
"If you can do that," here, Harriet indicated the floor, where she'd recently been pinned down, "why the hell do you need me?"
Chapter 3
I selected you because you met my criteria."
"But—"
"The subject is closed. Please, keep moving. We have a lot to see."
Bernie was keen to show Harriet around, and she realised the big robot probably hadn't seen another human being for years. Of course, Bernie would be in contact with Peace Force HQ, submitting reports and so on, but that just wasn't the same. Or was it the same to a robot? Whether they used their eyes and ears, or plugged into a network port, surely it was all just part of a data stream?
"First we will cover this floor, then I will show you the basement." Bernie led the way towards the back of the building. On the way they passed a lift, and Harriet noticed there were three floors.
"What's upstairs?"
Bernie shook her head. "Senior officers only," she said, lowering her voice. "You and I are not authorised."
"We could have a quick look. I mean, who would know?"
"I would," said Bernie, and they kept going until they reached a large room with tables and bench seats. "This is the staff room, where you are permitted to eat. There's a kitchen at the back with a fridge, cooking equipment and so on."
"You could have a hell of a party in here," said Harriet. "It's huge!"
"Large gatherings require permits. And this is public property, which means —"
"Let's take a look at the rest," said Harriet quickly, before Bernie drowned her in laws and statutes. She'd have to learn it all eventually, but not on her first day.
"The locker rooms and bathrooms are through that door over there. As a female, you are not permitted to use the male facilities. And vice versa, should the station acquire a human male."
"Good luck finding one of those on Dismolle," muttered Harriet.
They left the staff room and Bernie opened a set of double doors, revealing a dusty boardroom table surrounded by chairs. There was a whiteboard at one end, still covered in scrawled notes. Down one side someone had written the numbers one to ten. Number one was circled, and bes
ide it were the words 'At last!' She assumed it had counted down the days until the original Peace Force officers were to leave Dismolle, and she understood exactly how they felt. Many was the time she'd sat in the spaceport viewing lounge, counting launches down to zero and then wishing she was on board whichever vessel had just taken off.
After the meeting room, Bernie led the way to an unobtrusive door on the opposite side of the station. It opened with difficulty, revealing a pitch black area.
"This is the garage," said Bernie. "As you can see the station possesses —"
"I can't see anything. It's all dark."
Bernie looked at her. "Of course. You are not equipped with infra-red." She reached along the wall, and there was a click as the lights came on.
"Oh wow," breathed Harriet. In front of her, sitting on blocks, was a sleek ground-car. It was longer than a cab, and looked about five times quicker. The car had a raked windshield, gull-wing doors, a roof full of spinning lights and two huge exhaust cones at the back.
"Pursuit vehicle," said Bernie. "This model has twin after-burners, pedestrian nets, auto stingers —"
"Stingers?"
"They're for bursting tyres. The inflatable devices fitted to car wheels, that is."
"But … cars don't have wheels. Only a few trucks do, and they'd never outrun this."
"Several hundred years ago, a government official signed a contract to fit every Peace Force ground vehicle with a stinger device. They did not foresee anti-gravity drives."
"So they've been fitting them ever since? What a waste of money!"
"It would have cost even more to terminate the contract."
Harriet brushed dust off the windscreen and peered inside. There were two bucket seats in the front, separated by a console full of buttons, displays and switches. In the back, behind a mesh partition, there was a huge open space as big as the interior of a limo. "I can't wait to try this thing out."
Bernie gave her a look. "You will not be driving this vehicle, Trainee. You are not authorised."
"Oh, come on! It looks so cool!"
"Nevertheless, you cannot operate it without a basic driving certificate."
"How do I get one of those?"
"You must learn every feature of this vehicle."
"I will."
"Then you must spend ten hours in the simulator."
"Not a problem."
"It is a problem, as we no longer have a simulator."
"Why not? Where did it go?"
"I dismantled it for spare parts," said Bernie. "Now, let us move along."
With a final, longing glance at the beautiful car, Harriet turned the lights off and closed the door.
"Before we visit the basement, I need to access the armoury," said Bernie. So saying, she led the way to a heavy steel door. "This is where we store weapons, personal armour and chemical cleaning products." She typed a code on the pad next to the door, almost crushing the controls with her thick fingers.
Harriet craned her neck as the door opened, trying to see around Bernie's bulky figure. To her surprise, the shelves in the small room were bare. "You've been burgled," she remarked. "Maybe someone should call the cops."
Bernie ignored her. "The last remaining officers took all the weapons with them. However, we still have several sets of body armour and a training pistol."
Harriet peered around the door and saw another row of shelves. There were several dark blue armoured vests, a small plastic case and, on the very top shelf, and an old cardboard records box.
Bernie took the plastic case and herded her out. "The armoury is off-limits to trainees."
"Trainees are not really allowed to do much, are they?"
"Of course not. You're the lowest rank of all."
"Bernie, there's nobody else here. If you want my help you're going to have to promote me or something."
"Oh, I can't do that. I'm not authorised."
"So I'm a trainee for good?"
"No, I suppose you will have to graduate one day." Bernie looked troubled for a second, but then her face cleared. "No matter. I will destroy that bridge when I come to it."
"Don't you mean cross?"
"I know what I meant," said the robot evenly. "Now follow me. It's time to show you the firing range."
* * *
"This is more like it!" exclaimed Harriet, as the lift opened onto a huge basement. There were half a dozen booths with partitions, and a firing range which extended forty metres further underground. Rails covered the ceilings, with several hooks still holding the blasted remains of paper targets. The floor below was littered with fragments.
Nearby, there was a big yellow cage with thick power cables. It was open on one side, and had two large metal plates on the floor. At first Harriet thought it was a torture device, but then she realised it was Bernie's charger.
Meanwhile, Bernie set the case down, fumbled with the catches and took out a small pistol. "This is a personal blaster. It will fire twenty shots on a charge, as fast as you can pull the trigger. There's an automatic mode on service weapons, but as this is a trainer it's only set up for single shots. The safety is here, the trigger is here, and I needn't tell you that this end —" here, she indicated the stubby barrel with the gaping hole "— is to be pointed at your targets."
"I'm not a complete idiot," said Harriet.
"I'm aware of that, but I must follow procedure." Bernie pressed a button on the wall, and while the nearest hook travelled towards them in fits and starts, she took a target from a nearby cupboard. Then, once everything was set up, she stood in the booth, almost filling it wall to wall with her bulk. "Stand beside me, Trainee Walsh."
Harriet squeezed between the robot and the wall. She hoped Bernie didn't lean on her, because she'd be flattened for sure.
"Do you agree to use this weapon for the good of the Peace Force?" intoned Bernie.
"Sure," said Harriet.
"I was not talking to you," said the robot. "Please be silent."
Walsh nodded.
"I do," continued Bernie. She hesitated, then spoke again. "Do you accept responsibility for your own safety?" After another pause: "I do." With the ritual completed, she brought the gun up and fired three times. The shots made a harsh fizzing noise, and when Harriet looked at the target half the paper had vanished.
"Nice."
"Acceptable," said Bernie. Then without warning, she pointed the weapon at Harriet and fired.
Click!
Harriet just stood there, mouth open, her life flashing before her eyes. Then it registered — the gun hadn't actually fired. Before she could duck, run away or shout at the insane robot, Bernie turned and fired three more shots at the target. This time the gun went off with three loud reports, and the remains of the target disintegrated in a shower of smouldering confetti.
"As you can see," said Bernie calmly, "training weapons will only fire down-range, unless I override the safety lock."
Walsh closed her mouth. Her heart was thudding, her knees were weak and her insides were like ice. Finally, she managed to speak. "Wh-What if the safety failed?"
"That would be … unfortunate."
Harriet wanted to say more, a lot more, but it wasn't Bernie's fault. It was the sadistic programmers who'd created the robot's training program. She could imagine them lounging around in some meeting, laughing themselves sick at the thought of all the terrified trainees begging for their lives. Furious, she wished she could drag them down to the firing range, so she could test the training gun's safety feature on them. She cursed them all, then took a deep breath.
"Did you say something, Trainee Walsh?"
"Nothing. Can I have a go now?"
"No, Trainee Walsh. Not without a basic weapons certificate."
"Really? So how do I get one of those?"
"You must demonstrate aptitude with a weapon."
"And I can't do that until I get the certificate."
"That is a slight flaw in the system," admitted Bernie. "Now, let us find
you a uniform."
* * *
Upstairs, they returned to the canteen and from there, to the locker rooms. Bernie went along the rows of metal doors, trying them one by one. Most were open, and empty, but a couple were locked. When she encountered a locked door, Bernie just pulled a little harder until it popped open with a creak of tortured metal.
After checking all the lockers, she returned with various items of clothing draped over one arm. In her hand she carried a round hat, upside-down. "These should fit you," said Bernie, and she offered the clothing to Harriet.
There was a pair of trousers, a couple of light blue shirts, neckties, and a heavy coat. Walsh inspected them, then realised Bernie was waiting expectantly. "What is it?"
"You should try them on."
"What, right here?"
"You are on duty, are you not? Officers must be properly dressed on duty."
Harriet was about to comply, since Bernie was only a robot. Then she remembered the weapon trick in the basement, and frowned. It would be just like those programmers to be watching everything through Bernie's eyes, and she'd be damned if she'd fall into another trap. So, she took the clothes into a nearby stall and got changed.
When she emerged, Bernie's face was almost happy. "Trainee Walsh, what an improvement!"
Harriet looked down at herself, and despite her loathing for uniforms she had to agree. Bernie's eye for measurements was accurate, and the clothes fitted her well. The coat had broad lapels, turned up behind the neck, and stylish blue piping. As she was admiring the look, Bernie took a couple of items out of the hat, and then passed it to her. It was a curious design, shaped like a baking tin, but it was a comfortable fit.
Finally, Bernie handed her the two items: A small black commset, and a shiny silver Peace Force badge. "The badge attaches to your hat," said Bernie.
Harriet was more interested in the commset. It was small and sleek, and the screen showed a complex menu.
"That's linked to base," said Bernie. "It's for official use only … you are not authorised to make personal calls."
"So I can't drive, I can't shoot, I can't call anyone … What am I supposed to do around here?"
"As you may have noticed," began Bernie. "I am a robot."
