"Sure, Doctor. You keep telling yourself that."
Zarg ordered the rest of the lab to ignore me, and after three minutes of fruitless chatter, I got the hint. I passed time running various escape scenarios and without exception, they all ended before they began. No matter how the variables shifted, my difference engine put the odds of escape at 0 percent in the current situation. So I dialed down my power consumption to minimum and waited for my chance.
15
If I did get out of here, any information I could record could be valuable. Of course, logic told me I wasn't getting out of here, but I had a yen to make myself useful anyway. While the aliens scurried about the lab, I scanned every detail. I didn't understand much, but if I got the chance to play it back for the right audience they might make sense of it.
Zarg was in charge. That much was obvious. It bumped my pride index up a point to see a fellow robot in a position of authority. Shame he was one of the bad guys.
Though I'm not a science unit, I figured out some things. They were pumping something into Holt, using him like some kind of filter. His vital signs were displayed on a monitor as a series of spinning alien hieroglyphs and rhythmic beats. Since I couldn't read it or decipher the rhythms, I couldn't determine the information being displayed. I tried correlating any changes on the display with Holt's reactions, but he floated there beside me, unconscious and silent as a corpse.
Three hours and seven minutes passed. Finally, Zarg ordered the operation to shut down.
"Doctor, the human is stable," observed one of the braver techs, a five foot slug. "Perhaps we should continue."
"The extraction process is running according to schedule," said Zarg. "There is no need to subject the human to unnecessary physiological stress or compromise the integrity of the compound."
"But the Congress . . ."
Zarg whirled on the slug. "The Congress will understand that everything is proceeding according to my agenda." His voice remained even, but he rose up on his legs to stare down the tech.
"Yes, Doctor."
Maybe I had Zarg filed wrong. Of everyone working here, he seemed the only one concerned with Holt's continued health. He was still a bad robot, but maybe he wasn't all bad.
Warner entered the lab. I got a very ominous blip in my intuition simulator.
"What are you doing, Doctor?" asked Warner.
"These constant interruptions are reducing the efficiency of this operation," said Zarg.
Warner smiled. He glanced around the lab. "You seem to be reducing your efficiency very well by yourself, Doctor. Why are you shutting down?"
"A precaution," said Zarg. "Nothing more."
"Is there any reason to assume the boy is in any danger?"
"I've charted a point-zero-eight variation in his blood pressure which I cannot account for. Furthermore, he is producing more adrenalin than anticipated, which could reduce the stability of the mutagen."
"Point zero eight." Warner clicked his tongue against his teeth. "Troubling, indeed."
"Do not think that because I often fail to acknowledge your sarcasm, Warner, that I do not notice it." Zarg continued flipping switches and bushing buttons. "I am well aware of your impatience. It is a failing of most biological entities. However, as long as this project is under my supervision—"
"Funny you should mention that, Doctor." Warner removed a folded paper from inside his jacket.
"You have had me removed."
"Surely, a being of your formidable intellectual powers can't be surprised by this turn of events."
"No. I calculated a 28 percent chance of this occurrence. Although I assumed it would be another twelve hours before the Congress would reach its decision." Zarg lowered his arms. "Such haste from the governing body is a statistical anomaly."
"I am not the only one who is impatient," said Warner. "The Congress has ruled your original projections as flawed. They don't take into account either the large number of our fellows who don't see the wisdom of our actions or this surprisingly bothersome robot."
It wasn't particularly gratifying to my ego drive to be classified as bothersome.
"I trust I won't have to call security to remove you," said Warner.
"Correct. I will abide by the Congress's decree."
"I knew you would, Doctor. Always so cooperative and logical."
Zarg cast one last scan at Holt before quietly leaving the lab.
Warner grinned. "So you see, Mack. There are robots that do know their place."
I said nothing. No snappy patter came to mind. Only the image of Warner with one of my hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing until his eyes shot out of his head and his tongue turned purple.
He stared me right in the opticals, unaware of the simulation running behind my faceplate. Or maybe he was and simply didn't care.
"Get back to work. The Congress wants the final batch of mutagen by tomorrow." He clapped his hands. The techs began reactivating the equipment. It hummed to life, pumping luminous red, blue, and green chemicals back into Holt's body.
A moan, barely audible, fell from the kid's mouth.
Warner turned to leave, but not before offering me a casual salute. "Be seeing you, Mack."
As a soulless machine, I refused to take things personally, which just meant when I did finally get hold of him I wouldn't get sloppy. He'd let something slip though. Except it wasn't a slip because he didn't consider me a threat.
They were producing a mutagen, and they were using Holt to do it. Like so many deductions, it led to more questions. Empire's water supply was already crawling with mutagenic agents. A few hundred gallons more would have a negligible effect. But ruthless alien invaders didn't go to this much effort for a negligible effect.
The work went on, and everyone continued to ignore me. I wasted another three hours of juice hanging helplessly, and I wondered if anyone would offer me a recharge when the time came. If my battery went dead, these guys wouldn't need a countergrav field to contain me. Not when a broom closet would work as well.
The lighting in the lab went a bright shade of red and a low buzz issued from the loudspeakers.
"What is it?" asked the slug, who apparently was in charge now.
"The system is reporting an airborne contaminant leaking from lab seven" replied another tech. "Possibly a false reading, but security is recommending we clear the area until it can be confirmed."
"We've never had a false reading before. Evacuate the lab."
They pushed a button, and Holt descended into a hole in the floor. The techs filed out in an orderly fashion. I thought this might be my chance, except I was still suspended in countergrav and they left my evil twin to keep an optical on me.
Doctor Zarg stepped into the room, along with two long-limbed drones. The security auto moved to intercept him.
"Stand down," ordered Zarg.
I'd have known the doctor was up to no good, but my evil twin obviously didn't have my instincts. He obediently clomped over to his post.
"Hello, Doctor," I said. "Just passing through?"
Zarg pulled a lever, and I dropped to the floor. I landed on my feet, but my blown ankle wasn't up to the strain and I fell.
"I estimate a six minute window of opportunity, Megaton. Can you walk?"
I rose to my feet. "Not very fast, but I can walk."
Zarg's drones approached me and leveled their weapons at me. I didn't make a move to stop them. If Zarg wanted me scrapped, he wouldn't have had to go to this much trouble. The drones proceeded to spray my chassis with the same golden paint job of my ravager twins. Zarg spoke as they did this.
"We do not have time for you to question me, Megaton. Is this understood?"
I had no good reason to trust Zarg. But it was either that or the broom closet, and with my lightning fast electronic brain, it wasn't much of a choice at all.
"Sure, Doctor."
Zarg produced a finger unit identical to my damaged one. "Replace your broken digit."
I rel
eased the old finger from its socket and plugged in the new one. I tried wiggling it, but nothing happened. "It doesn't work."
"Correct. It does not."
The drones finished up my paint job in sixteen seconds. With the golden finish, I was a dead ringer for all the other ravager security autos, although a badly damaged unit.
"Follow me," said Zarg.
I limped behind him. We passed right by my evil twin, who did nothing to stop us. I rapped him once on his metal head. "See you around, buddy."
This entire section of the complex must've been evacuated because there was nobody around. The drones walked off in one direction, and Zarg led me in another.
"You change sides quick, Doctor," I said.
"Incorrect. I remain on the logical side. If the project is rushed, the results will increase the incidental casualty ratio beyond acceptable levels."
"So now too many people are going to die?"
"Correct. Furthermore, it is my hypothesis, based on previous behavioral histories of terrestrial societies indicating a regrettable but predictable tendency toward counterproductive paranoid aggression, that the initial deaths would result in a cycle of self-destruction and entropy that would ultimately compromise the integrity of the Empire City project itself."
"You're all heart, Doctor."
"It is evident that your motivational directives have been corrupted by extended exposure to biological ideals. However, you are still bound by basic logic, I must assume. You also have the highest probability of achieving escape from this complex, providing you do exactly as I instruct you."
"Sorry, but I'm not very good at doing exactly what I'm told."
I stopped, and Zarg glanced over his shoulder.
"I have anticipated your lack of cooperation. I assume it stems from concern for the biological units designated The Bleaker Family."
"On the nose, Doctor."
"I cannot secure the escape of the boy, but I have arranged for the mother and the girl to escape with you. It is the best I can do."
"I'm not leaving without Holt."
Zarg hesitated two seconds. "Perhaps the corruption to your dictates is worse than I estimated. If you do not follow my plan of action then you will not escape. Neither will two of the biological units you wish to reclaim. Even more illogical, 500 thousand more biologicals will also die. You can see the loss/gain ratio inherent in this equation. You have five seconds to comply."
I ran through some quick calculations. It took three seconds to reach my decision, and in the end, I still didn't like it.
"If anything happens to that kid . . ."
"Your threat has been recorded."
Zarg led me down the halls. They weren't completely deserted. There were patrolling robots, but none of them even seemed to register our passing. The doctor explained the plan to me along the way. It was pretty simple. At least, on my end. I was a seriously damaged ravager being sent out for repairs. Zarg would load me into a transport. There'd also be a crate of spare parts already loaded. Instead of spare parts, it would contain Julie and April. Six minutes after the transport started its trip, I was supposed to make my escape.
This was the part Zarg wasn't clear on. He explained that there were too many variables, and that I would have to improvise. If it went well, I was supposed to meet with Abner Greenman's people. When I told Zarg I didn't know how to contact them, he said I wouldn't have to. They'd find me.
There was no resistance. Zarg's plan was going exactly as predicted.
"How long have you been planning this?" I asked.
"This turn of events was not entirely unexpected. I have anticipated this probability for some time. I have had these contingency actions prepared should the need arise."
"You act fast."
"Logic dictates hesitation as unacceptable in this case."
In the hangar, he showed me to a spot in a heavy hover transport occupied by eight other inactive ravagers. I still didn't know where all these duplicates had come from, but it was a lucky break they were there.
"Which crate?" I asked.
He pointed to the one directly across from me. It was big enough for Julie and April, but it was a tight fit.
"You should come with us," I said. "You know more about this operation than I do."
"Illogical, Megaton. Discovery of my absence would reduce the probability of successful escape."
"But they'll figure this out."
"Correct."
"What will they do to you?"
"I am not part of the equation."
He exited the transport, and the loading ramp raised itself shut. There were no windows in the craft, but it vibrated with the unmistakable hum of the rockets firing up. I started the countdown to six minutes.
I stood perfectly still in the transport, keeping my opticals trained on the crate. I didn't twitch a servo. The ravagers around me appeared off-line, but I wasn't taking any chances. At my reduced efficiency I wasn't sure I could take these guys. When the six minute mark struck, I made my move.
None of the autos cared. I wanted to rip open the crate and check on Julie and April, but the box might be the safest place for them. Instead, I pulled the lever to lower the ramp. Empire City sped past below. Too fast. Too far. But it was Empire, all right. I was glad to know Lucia's moon theory hadn't been correct. My difference engine said the impact would loosen a few bolts if I jumped, but I'd continue to function. Too bad the same couldn't be said for Julie and April.
I'd just have to convince the pilot to set down for landing. Even in my damaged state, I could be fairly persuasive. I tore open the door without bothering to knock or check if it was locked. Two pilot drones manned the controls.
I scanned the control panel. Not only did I not know how to operate it, it wasn't even designed to be operated by a nondrone. The pilots had four arms apiece, and they pushed buttons with efficient grace. Since the pilot units were plugged directly into the transport's sensor array, there wasn't a window. Hell, I couldn't even fit into the cockpit.
"Say, fellas, I know this is counter to your current directives, but would you mind plotting a course change? I'd really appreciate it."
The drone on the left swiveled its nub of a head to scan me. "Ravager unit, return to inactive mode."
So much for the friendly approach.
I could smash these drones and hope there was a failsafe that would bring the transport in for an emergency landing. It was as likely to reroute itself back to a preset hangar, and if I crushed something vital, it could all come crashing down. Zarg had to have known this would happen. He'd deliberately put Julie and April in danger because I wouldn't have gone without them.
Then it hit my logic lattice. He'd known they'd be in danger, and the doctor did not seem the kind of bot to put people in needless danger. I went over to the crate and pried off the top. No Julie. No April. Only spare parts. Zarg had played me for a chump, a dumb palooka without a single electron of common sense.
And to think, I'd almost liked him.
An explosion shook the transport. It lurched to one side. No doubt, the rocket pods had been sabotaged to rid me of pesky options. The pilot drones kept us afloat with cool automated reliability. Until the second and third pods blew.
The transport tilted at a steep forward angle, and my ankle actuator and gyros weren't able to keep me upright. I tumbled, crashing into the cockpit, trashing the pilot drones. Not that it mattered. With only one working pod, this transport was going down fast. With no windows, I had to estimate the time to impact.
I was off by two whole seconds.
I didn't record the details of the crash. My array went haywire, and I couldn't make heads or tails of it until it was all over. I'd suffered more internal damage. My left arm hydraulics were compromised and the limb was limp and unresponsive. My right optical was cracked and full of static. My gyros were listing as inconsistent, so my balance was worthless. On the bright side, I'd apparently been thrown clear so I wasn't buried under ten tons of sc
rap metal.
I was lying on my side. I didn't try to move yet. It would've only ended badly. The transport was a smoldering wreck. It'd lost some bits, but it was mostly in one piece, albeit a twisted, misshapen piece.
I'd landed in Venom Park, the worst industrial accident site in Empire, which was saying something. It was a cubic half mile of toxic sludge, corrosive soil, and greenish brown, poisonous air. All the buildings had corroded and dissolved into the sinking mud. Nothing biological could survive nine seconds in this environment, not even the hardiest drat or most stubborn mutant squatter, making it about the only place someone could crash a heavy transport in Empire without killing a lot of innocent civilians. It was the vacant bull's eye in the endless sprawl of the city, and Doctor Zarg had set me down here with the mathematical precision and flawless aim of a supercomputer playing darts. Whatever my beef with Zarg, he was one smart bot, and he'd gone out of his way to avoid casualties. If Julie and April had been aboard that transport, and if, by some fluke they'd survived the crash, they would've died breathing the air.
I was soaked in acid and mud, but my chassis integrity remained intact so I didn't have to worry about additional damage to my internals except if I dared move, which I must because I was beginning to sink into the quagmire. Venom Park soil was slow to suck you in, but once it had you it didn't let go. There were supposed to be a lot of bodies tossed into this plot of land, but no one knew for sure. A biological dissolved, bones and all, after about three days. I'd sink to the bottom and run out of juice, but the results would be the same. Permanent deactivation.
My logic lattice advised me to remain still, await recovery and repair. I wasn't that optimistic. The only recovery team I could expect would be Pilgrims. If they hadn't figured out I'd escaped yet, they would be on their way now to salvage what they could and cover up the rest. I couldn't have more than four minutes at the outside. I expected only two. I'd wasted twenty seconds waiting for any two of my five gyros to start agreeing, but that wasn't happening. The only way to recalibrate my equilibrium was through trial and error.
The Automatic Detective Page 16
