by John Rankine
The engineer shoved the green handle to its first yellow stop. The shuttle took off smoothly along its rail, accelerating to a ceiling around twenty kilometres in the hour and holding rock steady to that. It was enough to be going on with. There was time to look about and see where they were going.
In fact, there was not a lot to see. The plain walls of the underground depot had not been exploited for commercial gain. The pleasure seeking Pelorusians had other fish to fry. At the end of the platform, the line branched two ways with a choice of two tunnel exits. There was no demand on the driver. The shuttle took the left-hand hole and plunged into the darkness of the pit.
Koenig left his seat and walked about the car. It would seat thirty-two on double seats, eight on either side of a central aisle. There were contoured headrests, small parcel racks and a freight bay in the rumble. It was neat, functional and efficient. Except for the unexplained attacks on Alpha, there was every reason to think well of the people who had designed it. He completed his tour and sat down beside Bergman.
‘How does it work, Victor?’
‘Linear motors, without a doubt. Stator and rotor parallel instead of coaxial. It’s something I recommended when Alpha was in construction. It’s cheap and foolproof to operate.’
‘But costly to set up. That’s what killed it. Here they must have surplus production to burn.’
Helena Russell said, ‘How does that square with the frieze upstairs? You wouldn’t rate those people as technologists?’
Koenig said, ‘Art and life don’t necessarily match up. Somebody had the know-how and you don’t get it by sleight of hand. There has to be training and hard work. Then there’s another factor that creeps in. People get to like the work for its own sake. They might start out thinking that when they’ve built their Xanadu they’ll sit back and enjoy it; but it doesn’t work out like that. The acts of working and planning alter them. They can’t be idle.’
Helena said, ‘You have a point. Two points. The art work could be wish fulfillment. It could be the very opposite to the way they are. If they’ve hived off all the chores to mechanical wonders, they might well have an elitist society where everybody is an intellectual. I’m not sure that it would be healthy in the long term.’
Leaning forward between the head stalls, Sandra Benes listened to the conversation, watching one and then the other like a tennis umpire. Picking up the break, she said, ‘There’s another thing. If one generation makes everything perfect, the next generation has nothing to do unless it breaks it all up and starts over. Both the picture and the technology could exist together.’
Paul Morrow pulled her back into her seat. He said, ‘Give me a little of your attention. We don’t often get to ride on the Metro. Sing little European songs in my ear as if we were going for a day in the country.’
‘I’d be a fool to go on a trip with a chauvinist pig.’
‘There is no better companion on a ramble.’
Whatever reply she would have made was forever lost. The shuttle had steamed into new territory. The tunnel was white tiled and brilliantly lit. The walls funnelled out into the huge dome of another cavern. This one was clearly a more important centre and might well be the hub of a network. There were shuttles standing at other platforms and a line of spares in a siding waiting to come into service. There was an island in the centre, reached by many flyovers, with a circular kiosk under a linear display panel which could only be a clock. It was still working. As they watched, the symbols changed and one of them was identical with the first symbol on Bergman’s control panel.
He had brought the lever back to zero and the shuttle moved gently to a stop. He shoved over the brake. Lights dimmed and the hatch clicked again. There was a sense of journey’s end. But there was no busy work party rolling out a red carpet.
There was progress of a kind. As they stepped out to the platform, a P.A. system cracked into life and an even, metallic voice made an announcement.
‘Fastabelindo in vra katika an devasto. Praeli. Antrenda in lamen.’
It ceased. Paul Morrow said courteously, ‘And I wish you the same.’
Koenig spotted a row of elevators. There was one with the cage in position and the hatch open. He said, ‘We’ll go up and take a look. If there’s nothing, we rejoin Alan and get back.’
When all were in, he selected a stud and shoved It home. The hatch sliced shut. The cage began to move. A fine mist of tiny violet droplets fell from the roof and Helena’s alarmed, ‘John!’ was the only word spoken. Her recognition that there was a general anaesthetic out and about was too late by a couple of seconds. Koenig tried to grab for her and they fell together to a soft foam floor as the elevator surged on up the shaft.
CHAPTER FOUR
John Koenig rejoined the world of sense as quickly and unexpectedly as he had left it. His brain was suddenly at a stretch and trying to see all the angles, but he made no move to advertise the fact.
As far as physical comfort went, he was, anyway, ahead. The floor he was lying on was carpeted with a soft pile. His head was chocked on a pneumatic pillow which was rising and falling gently at a comfortable human tempo. The only sound was a muted symphonic gurgle, which told him that his headstall was part and parcel of a human creature who had missed out on lunch and could do with a refuelling session.
He opened his eyes and found he was looking over the pleasant contours of Helena Russell’s chest at the underside of her chin. Beyond her head was a grey fluted wall. At the edge of vision, he could see the outline of something that might be a desk or a table.
Moving a centimetre at a time, he checked his belt. His commlock was still there. And his laser. Thinking it out so that he knew to a fraction what moves he was going to make, he gathered himself together and mobilised every erg of his motor for a smooth turn and rise.
Koenig was on one knee with his laser searching about for a target. He felt a sense of anticlimax. There was nobody about except the five Alphans.
They were in a quiet room maybe ten metres square. Walls were uniformly grey with no visible entrance. There was a single, oval lighting port in the centre of the roof. They had a table, which was set with bowls of unfamiliar fruits, goblets and a couple of carafes. Chairs with blue and yellow cushions were dotted about. There was a long settle against one wall. Lying every which way, his four companions were stretched out on the deck.
Even as he checked out the set, there was movement. Paul Morrow sat up and said, ‘Sandra?’
Koenig said, ‘Right beside you. She’s all right.’
‘Commander? What goes on?’
‘You’d need a crystal ball to answer that. We walked right into it.’
Helena Russell sighed deeply, sat forward and shook her head, sending a shock wave through her hair. ‘John?’
‘The same.’
Medical training died hard. She went on, ‘That’s a very efficient drug. Instant action. Complete anaesthesia. No side effect.’
‘You’re supposed to say, “Where am I?” Where’s your sense of occasion?’
‘Okay, where am I?’
‘Your guess is as good as mine.’
‘Sometimes, John Koenig, you’re a very disappointing man. What’s the use of giving the right cue, if you don’t have the right answer?’
Sandra played it by the book. Paul Morrow had picked her up to fix her on a couple of cushions. Dark eyes suddenly wide and enormous, she said, ‘Where am I?’ and wrapped her arms round his neck.
‘With me.’
‘That’s nice.’
She closed her eyes and relaxed, then opened them suddenly, as total recall flooded in, and struggled to get on her own two feet.
Last to join, Victor Bergman heaved himself slowly to his feet. He said, ‘Could it be that they knew from the first which way we’d go? Left us to our own devices, knowing that we’d see the shuttle, knowing that we’d follow our noses?’
Koenig’s thinking had been along the same line, but he couldn’t accept it. ‘I do
n’t see how. They weren’t to know we’d crack the glass and trail the repair detail. But I’ll concede that they could have had us monitored along the way. It wouldn’t take long to set up the trap in the only route we could use to leave the cellar.’
Helena said, ‘We keep saying “they,” but I can’t see those people in the frieze behind this kind of cat-and-mouse game. Or behind the attacks on Alpha, for that matter.’
Koenig said, ‘Who then?’
As if on cue, a section of the wall sliced open and a voice, using English slowly, as though its owner had to think out each word from semantic principles, said, ‘That is correct. You are correct in that. The humans do not have the will or the power to take action. The direction of affairs on Pelorus has passed to us. We have the knowledge and the power. We are the masters now.’
It came from a tall figure standing foursquare in the aperture, though where precisely the sound had its point of origin was hard to say. The head was a bland ovoid, finely tooled with microgrooving, so that, as the point of vision of a watcher altered, there was the impression of features. Then, as the eye steadied to a particular point, there was only the plain smooth surface.
It was a curious and disturbing effect, though the rest of the body shell was no more than a superbly cast model of a well proportioned male figure, carried out in what could be stainless steel. High on the left of the chest, was an oblong ID plaque with letter symbols.
The voice went on, ‘You will come with me. The Council of Pelorus will question you.’
Koenig said, ‘Suppose we say we refuse?’
‘That would be unreasonable. Why should you act in an irrational way?’
Koenig’s laser was lined up on the android’s dome and he had taken first pressure. Helena’s hand on his arm checked him. ‘John. They must know we can’t do anything against them. Wait. We should hear what they have to say.’
Koenig shook his head as if to clear it. It was uncharacteristic of him to shoot first and talk afterwards. He said shortly, ‘Of course, we should do that. Keep a check on these degaussing helmets. Be ready to counter any mind-bending effects that might be going about.’
To the visitor, he said, ‘Very well then. Lead and we will follow. We have questions of our own to ask.’
Outside the door, they were on a circular landing. In the centre was a single elevator in a translucent shaft. Clearly, they had been moved to another part of the complex. The guide walked straight in and waited. With a shrug, Koenig followed.
It was a short trip and they emerged in natural daylight with the familiar warm tinge of the Pelorusian atmosphere. There was glass all around and views of rising, mountainous peaks in every direction. They had come out to a penthouse feature on a tall building set in tourist country.
Their guide crossed a lobby dotted with exotic plants in white tubs and a glass patio door slid away at his touch. They followed him through into what was clearly an executive suite with panoramic views on all sides and a ceiling that was in continuous flux with slow spreading patches of changing colour.
Koenig suddenly knew for a truth that the ten androids sitting round the circular green table, still as metal castings, were using services that had been set up by somebody else. They were going through the motions. They were imitating a procedure that had been devised by men.
Seen closer, there were differences in the androids. Eight had a stainless-steel finish like the messenger. Two, sitting side by side, were pale gold. One male, one female, taken perhaps from some perfect, classical mould, throwbacks in form, at least, to a time even before the world of the frieze.
The left-hand marker of the golden pair turned his eyeless, ovoid head to watch them in and, although the voice which began to speak was difficult to place, it seemed to key with his actions and he was the likely source.
‘You have been brought before the Council of Pelorus to give an account of yourselves.’
For Koenig it was the last twist of the knife. If he had indeed finally gotten to meet the mechanical genius which had masterminded the attacks on Alpha and had rejected any attempt to go for two-way communication, he reckoned there were explanations due to him. Mastering his anger, he went for a cold, biting exposition. He said, ‘I am John Koenig, Commander of Moonbase Alpha. But you know that. Since you have listened on the Alpha net long enough to know the basics of our language, you also know that our mission is peaceful. But, without warning, you attacked our base and attempted to destroy us. You must answer for that. Why do you treat us as enemies?’
The site of the voice shifted and altered in timbre. This time it was the female android. ‘You are enemies.’
Helena Russell said indignantly, ‘How can you say that? You know nothing about us. Certainly, we are looking for a place to live. But we are not thieves. We would negotiate. We offer our skills and the knowledge of our race in return. You have acted like barbarians.’
The first speaker raised a shining metallic arm. The discussion was getting out of control. Instead of a hand there was a ball fitment from the wrist and a crablike pincer with a jointed thumb acting against a flexible plate. But the gesture was wholly human. If he had had a gavel he would have been pounding the table top. He said, ‘Enough. The Council of Pelorus does not have to justify itself. You are here. That is enough. Your asteroid platform has penetrated into our space and our calculations show that already it is upsetting the physical laws which have always operated here. You are unstable, biological creatures. We have no intention of allowing you to bring your unresolved problems to this planet, which is now a place of order and good government.’
Koenig could have said that there was no place more neat and tidy than a mausoleum. But he stuck to his main point. ‘That is no explanation. We tried to communicate with you. You refused.’
‘This Council does not have to explain itself to creatures such as you. How could you understand the interplay of pure intelligence, freed from the interplay of human selfishness and folly? The question is what now is to be done with you.’
Koenig’s laser was in his hand and his voice was hard edged. ‘We are not defenceless. Perhaps even pure intelligence has enough self-interest to want to stay in being. There is no progress in this meeting. We are leaving now to return to our ship.’
There was no move from any one of the Council. Koenig said, ‘All right. We’ll find our own way out.’
Morrow, nearest the door, kept the messenger in his sights and backed slowly off. He was a metre short of the hatch when he was brought to a stop. Watching him out of the tail of his eye, Koenig saw him feeling with his free hand for the object that had suddenly appeared in his path. Clearly, it was there to touch; but there was nothing to see.
Sandra Benes, two paces to the left, was using both hands and seemed to be running them over the surface of an invisible wall. She said, ‘It’s no use, Commander. There’s a barrier.’
Koenig tried the head man. ‘So you have some technical tricks. Release us!’
‘No.’
‘I’ll count five and then drill some holes in that fancy head.’
‘That is a typical human reaction to a problem. It is easy to see which of us is the barbarian.’
Koenig said, ‘Stop me when it moves, Sandra,’ and began to count, ‘Five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.’ There was no response from Sandra Benes who was still shoving away like any method actor miming frustration.
Following the sequence in strict time, Koenig called, ‘Zero’ and fired as he spoke. Paul Morrow hit the same split second with a backup reaction. Two fine beams flared from the lasers and converged towards the same target.
It was an illuminated diagram and the beams should have homed in the same square millimetre on the android’s bland forehead. But there was no joy. The combined strike was held off, ten centimetres off target, in a white asterisk of intense light.
Bergman said quickly, ‘Save it, John. It’s no use. They left us the lasers because they know they have protection. It
’s an incredible force field.’
Koenig’s arm fell to his side. It was one thing to be outsmarted, by a human adversary, but to have to cry uncle to a tin wonder gave a shrewd knock to his spirit. It was no help to feel that he was in some sense to blame. It was his own decision that had brought the reconnaissance team down on Pelorus. After all the experience on Alpha’s troubled odyssey, he should have known better. If anything, he should have come in strength, with a squadron of armed Eagles, and blasted a path to a conference chamber.
Seeing that his position as a negotiator had been badly undermined, Helena Russell tried a different tack. ‘Listen. We have both used force and failed. But you must agree that you taught us its use. You tried to destroy Alpha. It cannot matter to you whether we are here or there. Allow us to return. Our moon is travelling on. Soon it will be out of your gravisphere. Before it passes out of sight, we should exchange what knowledge we have. That is how intelligent people should behave.’
One feature of pure intelligence in action was plain enough when the android spoke again. There was no harmonic of triumph or satisfaction in winning the hand. A move had been made and that move had been countered. It was a mathematical exercise with no winners or losers. He had missed being turned into scrap metal by a fraction, but his voice was unaltered. ‘Your arguments all have the same base. You are anxious to preserve your lives a little longer, though it would be clear, to an intelligent life form, that there is no point in such concern. The statistical likelihood of your finding a place to live is too small to have significance. Here, or on your moon, you are doomed. It is only a question of sooner or later. We, on the other hand, live forever. The future, the past and the present are all one. We exist unchanged. We are not misled by the changing pressures and needs of an inefficient, biological, life-support system.’
Bergman said, ‘But you were created by man in his own image. Originally, you were programmed by biological men. You could not have existed as you are without men, however independent you have become. Does that not make you pause to consider whether we have not something to offer?’
