Robot City 1 & 2

by Isaac Asimov

  "Power on," he said.

  His next objective was the open control cab on the other side of the carrier, meant for use by workers in augments. But before he could reach it, Monitor 5 was again trying to block his way.

  "I don't want to harm you," Derec said. "Youcan't stop me. You've done your duty by trying. Now stand aside."

  "You are attempting to commit suicide. I am not required to comply with your orders under these circumstances."

  "I'm trying to save myself," Derec said. "If you really want me to live, you'll step aside and give me a chance."

  "I will take you to a safe place within the community--"

  "There are no safe places here!" Derec shouted. "Don't you understand?"

  "I cannot allow--"

  "I can't stand here and debate it," Derec said. "I'm sorry."

  As he spoke, he swung the right grapple of the suit in a sweeping arc that caught the robot in the neck and sent it sprawling. But Derec had barely taken three steps when it was back again, clawing at the suit's emergency panel.

  This time Derec reached down and grabbedthe robot's right leg, upending it and dropping it on its back. Catching its ankle with the other grapple, Derec pinched down hard until he heard the sounds of metal crumpling. When he released his grip, the robot's leg was crippled, the foot frozen at an odd angle.

  Derec climbed into the open cab unimpeded. As he backed the carrier away from the wall and turned it toward the ramp, he saw Monitor 5 still lying on the floor where he had left it, vainly trying to repair the damage Derec had done. It's slitlike scanners followed Derec and the carrier across the chamber.

  It was still watching him, its gaze somehow forlorn and somehow accusing, when Derec drove the carrier up through the lock and out onto the surface.

  CHAPTER 7

  FRIEND OR FOE

  After his time underground, it seemed strange to have the infinite open sky of space overhead. The sun, a tiny orange disk, hung low in the sky. Barely twenty degrees above the horizon, it cast long shadows into the depressions. The sky was bright with stars, but no planets declared themselves to Derec's eye.

  He did not know how long it would take to make the modifications to the augment. He only knew that the raider ship's orbit was bringing it closer, and he had to be done before it arrived. He knew too that the robots would be pursuing him in a short-sightedeffort to protect him. It was as though the jaws of a vise were closing on him. Somehow he had to squirm away or die.

  He only drove far enough over the rugged, frozen terrain to separate himself from the potential target of the complex entrance. Then he parked the carrier half in shadow on a valley floor and started off on foot across the frozen wastes. Though he was sacrificing speed in giving up the carrier, the vehicle almost certainly contained a tracking transponder that would lead the robots right to him.

  As soon as he was on foot, he began looking for the right place to hole up while working on the suit. He did not need sunlight for what he had to do, since the augment had its own worklamps. A shadowed hollow, a darkened crevice, a pitch-black ice cave--any of those would hide him without hindering his efforts. But the better hidden he was, the less warning he would have about the approach of therobots or the raiders. There was no having it both ways.

  While Derec hiked across the frozen terrain and equivocated, he used the augment's omnidirectional radio to send a series of distress calls. Derec did not know if the signals would carry over the horizon to the raider, and he feared that they would lead the robots to him. But he had to try, had to give the raiders a chance and a reason to save him.

  "Clear channel, code 1. To all ships: pilot marooned, requires pickup. Respond if in range. To all ships--"

  Eventually Derec settled on a fissure in an ice cliff that faced back the way he had come. From there, he had a fair view of the terrain, except for what was blocked by the larger crags and mounds. And he had a clear view of the sky from the horizon on the northwest to the horizon on the northeast."Diagnostic library," he said.

  The lower half of the bubblelike viewport turned opaque and a list of subsystems appeared on it in bright yellow letters. He scanned down the list quickly.

  "Motive systems."

  One of the items near the middle of the list flashed twice, and then the entire list was replaced by another. In the same manner, Derec worked his way through the help screens until the circuit and logic paths of the subcontroller filled the half-display with a maze of fine tracings. Derec studied the system carefully, his lips pursed into a frown.

  "Frost," he muttered finally.

  It was as he had feared. The governor was not a physical device that could be readily disconnected. It was a feedback loop in the leg servo circuits. The loop told the suit controller, "Do not allow the force applied by the drivers to exceed a force of x number of dynes persecond." Small forces applied quickly were acceptable, as were large forces applied slowly. But large forces applied quickly, which was what he needed, were forbidden.

  If he had had more time, there might have been a chance to reprogram the subcontrollers. But under the circumstances, it would have to be radical surgery. Fortunately, augments were designed to be field-repairable, a practice which had saved more than one laborer's life.

  The various "hands" which the augment could use were located in bulging closures on the suit's thighs. Derec selected an illuminated micromanipulator for the right, and a spotweld laser for the left.

  Just then the ground under and around him shook suddenly, bringing a minor avalanche of slow-falling particles down on the crown of the suit. "Clear," he ordered. The bubble became a window again, revealing to Derec a chilling sight. The attacking spacecraft had climbedabove the western horizon. It was still firing randomly, still carving out a path of destruction on the asteroid's surface. Time was running out.

  "Shut down subsystem twenty-four." That was it: he was committed. With the leg controllers powered down, Derec could no longer walk.

  The modifications included burning through three circuit traces and fusing a fourth to a neighboring circuit as a shunt. Accuracy with the tiny laser was absolutely critical. A misfire could destroy enough circuits to cripple the augment permanently.

  With the help of the augment's pointing guide, Derec completed the work on the right leg without mishap. But by the time he was ready to start on the left, the vibrations from the more powerful explosions were more than strong enough to disturb his aim. As he stoodtrying to outguess the shaking ground, a familiar voice intruded:

  "Derec, please listen. Derec, you must stop. This is madness--"

  Two hundred meters away on the slope of the mound due north of him was a robot. It was Monitor 5, waving its arms and advancing directly toward where Derec stood. It was walking easily, with no sign of the damage Derec had inflicted on its leg.

  In the same glance, Derec saw that the reason the shaking was stronger was that the raider ship was much closer, more nearly overhead than he had expected. Once again he was trapped between the raiders, who would rescue him by killing him, and the robots, who would kill him by rescuing him.

  "Go away!" Derec hissed.

  "Derec, you must return to the compound. You are in danger here."

  The raider ship seemed to have taken noticeof the robot, for the plain between Monitor 5 and the cliff where Derec stood suddenly came under a barrage of pinpoint laser impacts.

  These were not the high-intensity weapons which were shaking the ground, and mercifully, the gunners did not seem to be targeting Derec. But the surface in this area was nearly all ice, and volatile. One blast boiled away the top of the mound behind the robot. Another gouged a deep trench between the robot and Derec.

  Derec did not think that would stop Monitor 5, and he was right. The robot scrambled down into the trench before the billow of gas could even dissipate, and Derec lost sight of it.

  He could not afford to worry about the robot. Setting his jaw determinedly, Derec went back to work on the left subcontroller. Us
ing the body rigidity and autocontrol of the augment to the fullest, he made short work of it. The three unwanted circuits vaporized in tinypuffs of atomic metal. The two parallel traces melted and merged into one.

  "Derec!" Monitor 5 called suddenly. "It's here! In the ice! I've found it!"

  Derec looked up. The firing had stopped, and there was no sign of the robot. "Close the panels," he said, then tongued the radio switch. "Monitor 5, go back to the installation. There's nothing you can do for me out here."

  Just then, a metallic arm appeared above the lip of the trench, the hand clutching a small silver object. A moment later Monitor 5 struggled out of the trench. Starting toward Derec, Monitor 5 raised the silver object triumphantly overhead in one hand.

  "The key is here, Derec. You must take it--"

  The robot's triumph did not last long. The raider ship was now a great ominous mass directly overhead. Monitor 5 had barely taken a step when the laser fire started up again. Red targeting beams danced like spotlights on astage on the ice around it.

  For a moment it seemed as though the robot was going to escape destruction. Then, a dozen strides from the foot of the cliff, a laser tracked a fiery line across the robot's torso. An instant later, Monitor 5 disappeared in a silent explosion, all blue-green flame and disintegrating metal.

  Disappeared--but not completely. The explosion sent pieces flying in all directions. One of the largest, spinning so rapidly Derec could not tell what it was, came cartwheeling toward him. As it struck the ground and skidded to a stop, Derec saw what it was: Monitor 5's right arm, from the shoulder joint to the fingers.

  And still gripped tightly in those fingers was the shining silver object--a rectangle perhaps five centimeters by fifteen centimeters, the size of a remote controller or a memory cartridge.

  Could this be the object that the robots wereso obsessively searching for all this time? If so, then why had Monitor 5's last act been to try to give it to Derec?

  For a moment Derec hesitated. To retrieve the object was an additional risk in an enterprise which was already too risky. But he knew that it was impossible for him to simply leave it lying there. Ripping the specialized end effectors from the augment's arms, Derec slapped the general-purpose grapples back in place.

  "Power up system twenty-four," he snapped, and the sole red lamp on the augment's status board turned to green.

  His descent down the slope to where the arm rested was a controlled fall at best. With the leg servos jimmied, Derec could not control a walking gait. But he got there all the same, seizing the arm and the artifact in his right hand and locking the grapple.

  Gathering his feet under himself, Derecglanced upward to gauge the distance and angle to the raider ship. He lifted his feet on the control pads, and the suit went into a crouch. He jammed his feet down hard, and the powerful legs of the augment kicked out with all their unrestrained might. Like a tiny spacecraft, the augment launched itself from the surface, carrying Derec toward a rendezvous with the raider ship.

  One way or another, I'm coming aboard--

  Suddenly the entire surface of the asteroid seemed to shudder and rise up in a convulsion. The robots had triggered their self-destruct at last, and the explosion sent a hailstorm of fragments blasting outward like space shrapnel.

  Almost immediately, the weapons pods of the raider ship sprang to life. At first Derec thought that they were aiming at him, trying to get him before he was lost in the deluge of ice and rock boulders which had erupted from the asteroid. Then it seemed as though the gunnersgunners were targeting the debris itself, the smaller and faster-moving bits of which were already overtaking him.

  Whichever was their goal, the net effect was the same: when he was within about a hundred meters of the nearest part of the ship and beginning to scan for a place to latch on with his free hand, the entire bubble faceplate of the augment lit up with a blue light that crawled in all directions like something alive.

  Derec's limbs went numb and his senses went wild. He had only enough time to think Not again! before the light faded and darkness took him away once more.

  Despite all the tumult which had surrounded him as he had lost consciousness, Derec came back to awareness calmly and easily. He could not say how long he had been unconscious, but it had to have been more than a few minutes. He was no longer outsidethe alien ship. For that matter, he was no longer in the augment. Instead, he was lying on his back on hard decking, staring up at a ceiling filled with small doors.

  Propping himself up on his elbows, Derec surveyed his surroundings. He was in a narrow room, almost a corridor. The long walls were covered with more doors--storage bins?--and there was an exit at each end--or at least a tall metal ellipse which might be an exit.

  Derec did not spend much time wondering about the exits or the contents of the storage bins. A large animal covered with mottled brown and gold fur squatted on its haunches nearby, watching Derec. It reminded Derec of a dog, like an undersized Saint Bernard with the alert eyes of a wolf. But the face was too flat, the ears too high and pointed, and the forelegs ended not in paws but in grayskinned sausagelike fingers.

  Whatever it was, he had never seen anythinglike it before. Moving slowly so as not to alarm the creature, Derec sat up. When he did, the creature sidled forward a step and cocked its head.

  "Arr 'u aw right?" it asked in a guttural voice.

  Derec could not have been more surprised if the creature had suddenly molted and turned into a butterfly. Not only speech, but Standard--however curiously accented"--

  I--I think so," he stammered.

  "That iss good," the creature said. "Aranimas will be pleased. 'Ee did not want 'u 'armed."

  "The best way to guarantee that is not to shoot at people."

  "Eff we 'ad been shooting at 'u, we would 'ave 'it 'u," the alien said with a tooth-bearing grimace that might have been a smile or a threat display.

  Though that message was garbled, other body language was coming through more clearly. The alien's crouch struck Derec as aposture from which it could spring quickly.

  Seated, he was at a disadvantage both in agility and reach, a fact which he felt keenly when he met the alien's gaze. Their eyes were on the same level, but Derec felt threatened, intimidated.

  Still moving slowly, Derec felt for the wall behind him and hauled himself to his feet. The alien's only reaction was to rise with him. When both were standing, the tips of the alien's ears reached only to Derec's chest, and the psychological comfort that went with being the taller shifted to Derec.

  "What are you?" he demanded.

  " 'Urr friend," the alien said. "What morr do 'u need to know?"

  "There's a hundred forty colonized worlds, and there's nothing like you on any of them."

  "Wherr I come from therr arr two 'undred colonized worlds, and nothing like 'u on any of them," the alien said, grimacing again. Thistime, the circumstances seemed to call more clearly for a smile, and Derec decided that's what it was. "Come. Aranimas iss waiting."

  "Who is Aranimas?"

  "Aranimas iss ship's boss. 'Ull see," the alien said, turning away and starting toward the far door.

  "Wait," Derec called. "What's your name?"

  The alien stopped and turned. It opened its mouth and out poured a torrent of sounds not in any human alphabet--like a growl punctuated with a sibilant hiss and sounds like bubbles popping. Then the alien smiled-grimaced. "Can say?"

  Derec shook his head sheepishly. "No."

  "Thought not. Come, then. Not wise to keep Aranimas waiting."

  Taking a brisk loping pace, the alien led Derec through three more compartments identical to the one he had awakened in. Derec wondered briefly about the mismatch betweenhis escort and the design of the ship they were in. The overhead storage bins were far above Derec's head; he doubted if he could reach them even by jumping. Unless the caninoid alien were as agile a climber as a terrestrial primate, it would need a ladder to get to their contents.

  Efficient use of spac
e--terrible ergonomic design, Derec thought critically.

  They came to a tiny hexagonal room barely large enough for both of them to stand in. It seemed to be a hub between intersecting corridors, since each wall framed an identical door. The alien paused for Derec to catch up, then continued on through.

  "Where do the other doors lead?"

  "Can't tell 'u," the alien said cheerfully.

  Beyond the hub, the interior of the ship had a different character. There were just as many walls and small spaces, but the walls were either of a coarse mesh, almost more like fencingfencing, or had large windowlike cutouts. Together the mesh and the cutouts provided long lines of sight and the feeling not of small spaces but of a large busy one.

  The largest space within this deck seemed to be straight ahead. Peering over the alien's shoulder, Derec caught glimpses of what seemed to be a control center, and of a figure seated at the console with its back to them. There was something familiar and human about the figure, and something wrong and disturbing at the same time.

  As soon as the caninoid led him into the control center, Derec knew why he was getting mixed messages, and who--or what--the storage corridors had been designed for. The alien sitting at the console was decidedly humanoid, and Derec could describe him in very human terms--a slender build, thin neck, almost hairless head, pale skin.

  But even sitting down, Aranimas was as tallas Derec, and he had the arm span of a condor. The entire horseshoe-shaped console, easily three human arm spans wide, was within his comfortable reach.

  Beyond and above Aranimas was a huge curved viewing screen on which eight different views of the asteroid's surface were being projected. Superimposed on most of them were blue-lined targeting grids and small characters Derec took to be numbers. Some of the characters were changing constantly, and others seemed to change in response to Aranimas's hands moving over the console and to the endless pattern of explosions and groundslides on the surface.

  "Praxil, denofah, praxil mastica," he was saying, apparently into a microphone. "Deh feh opt spa, nexori."