Robot Empire_Planet of Steel

by Kevin Partner

  Bex

  Bex knew she was being foolish, but desperate times called for desperate measures - or, quite possibly, utter stupidity. She was sitting at a small iron table beneath a parasol with a glass in her hand. It was warm and the little piazza buzzed with relaxed chatter. She could almost imagine she was relaxing in one of the holiday spots the Vanis Federation made available to their officers. Unless, of course, she glanced at the horizon beyond the little shops and the milling people - a horizon that curved upwards. She sat under a sun that was, in fact, a luminous band of plasma that ran the length of Dawn.

  She had to admit, however, that the ship’s designers had done an excellent job. Nica was a facsimile in miniature of a town in the south of Italy, or so the ship’s library computer had told her when she was researching what she should wear on her excursion. It was almost good enough to fool her. Pity about the company she was forced to keep.

  Engineer-turned-traitor Xi sat opposite, dressed in the flowing garb common in this part of the North Valley. He’d recovered much of his former self-assurance after she’d visited him in the brig and proposed this meeting. It had to be well away from the crew and officers, out of range of any robots or listening devices. So that was why she’d chosen this noisy piazza, that and because she had been looking for an excuse to visit the valleys since she arrived. Now she was in charge, for all its disadvantages, there was no-one to stop her.

  “Much though I appreciate this opportunity to spend some time out of my prison cell,” Xi said as he sipped his drink, “I’m keen to understand the purpose of our meeting.”

  Arse. Bex swallowed the sweet liquor that passed for spirits in this region and treated Xi to her most charming smile. “It seems to me, as a former brig inmate myself, that you and I might be able to help each other out.”

  “Indeed? In what way?”

  “You understand the way Dawn works better than I do, but even I know the current situation can’t carry on indefinitely.” She scanned the crowd as if looking for trouble.

  Xi followed her gaze. “It seems peaceful enough to me. Oh, forgive me, how should I address you? Captain?”

  Luckily the drink was only half way to her lips when Bex bellowed with laughter. She slapped her hand in front of her mouth and looked sheepishly around. Within moments, the usual hubbub had resumed and she could down her drink. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, “I’d make a pretty crappy captain. You’d have been out the airlock as soon as I’d taken over, for starters.”

  “May I ask why?”

  “I don’t like traitors, and when resources are scarce the deadwood is the first to go on the fire.”

  Xi leaned back in his chair, affecting nonchalance. “And yet you say I am useful to you.”

  “I’m impetuous,” Bex said with a shrug. “That’s one of the things that would make me a shitty captain.”

  “One?”

  Bex smiled. “There are others. For example, I’m not a forgiving soul, either. You know the old saying - ‘Fool me once, shame on you?’ Yes? In my case it’s more like ‘Fool me once and you’ll never get the chance to do it again’. Not so snappy, I’ll admit, but a bolt through the temple is pretty effective at dealing with piss-takers, I find.”

  She watched Xi’s expression. His face retained a hint of his racial background all those centuries ago although, as with most people who’d been born in the North Valley, his skin tone was light brown. Bex, with her paler skin, was a little unusual, but tonal variations were still common enough that she’d attracted no special attention.

  Yes, he believed her. All those years among the Vanis had taught her how to intimidate people. She was so good at it she almost believed it herself.

  “You were saying that we could be useful to one another,” Xi said, with an obviously forced carefree air.

  Bex leaned closer. “Your religion is fake. You know that as well as I do.”

  Xi put his drink on the table and folded his arms, but otherwise made no response.

  “It’s fake, but it serves a purpose on Dawn, a purpose that will become redundant when we find a permanent home.”

  “On a planet, I presume?”

  Bex nodded. “Yes, but not here, not where there are robots.”

  “You have something against robots?”

  “I don’t like them,” Bex said, automatically scanning the crowd for any that might be in the piazza, “but if we settle anywhere in the Robot Empire, or anywhere they can find us, we won’t ever be free.”

  Xi shrugged. “This is a moot point, since we cannot leave this system and, even if we could, they could easily find us as we make a single jump at a time.”

  “You leave that to me,” Bex said, “but the more immediate problem is keeping peace here. For all its hokiness, your religion controlled the valley folk for a millennium and a half.”

  “But now it’s breaking down.”

  “Yes. The situation is manageable day to day as the robots threaten to stop cooperating, but they’ll probably go soon and, even if they don’t, it would be far easier to keep control if the priests would return.”

  Xi leaned back again and held up his glass. Once the waiter had refilled it and bustled off, Xi smiled. “And you wish me to persuade Prime to send them back, to re-establish the old ways? I can’t see him agreeing to that, I’m afraid. His authority has been undermined by his failure to break into the Command Module and only a victory over you would be enough to restore it.”

  “That old idiot?” Bex snorted. She took another sip and regarded Xi for a moment. Yes, he was ready. She went in for the kill. “No, his time has passed and he’ll spend the rest of his days in a cell. What we need now is a new Prime, someone who truly understands the bigger picture and why it’s so essential that order is maintained while we face the threat from outside. Can you think of a suitable candidate?”

  Xi’s face tightened and lost a little of its colour. “You’re not seriously suggesting me?”

  “Why not? You were his spy among the engineers, so you must have been in his confidence and, as a member of the crew, you have a better understanding of what’s at stake than anyone.”

  “But you called me a traitor!”

  “And so you were, but you’re still the best man for the job. And doesn’t your religion teach the power of repentance?”

  “It does,” Xi said, his eyes wide as his mind filtered all the possibilities.

  Bex held out her hand. “Then it’s time to practice what you preach. Congratulations, Prime.”

  “Thank you, captain,” Xi said as he grabbed her hand, “but how will you persuade the old Prime to relinquish his position? And how will you ensure the conclave elects me?”

  Smiling, Bex took another swig. “Oh, I think I can be pretty persuasive. I reckon, within a few hours, the old boy will have named you his successor before mysteriously vanishing from public view.”

  “What are you going to do to him?”

  “Give him a choice - a comfortable retirement in the brig or a swift tour of the nearest airlock.”

  Xi’s face drained of any remaining colour. “You wouldn’t! He is the holy of holies.”

  “Well if he doesn’t want to get a whole lot closer to his goddess in the next few hours, he’d better cooperate. I have a feeling he and I will turn out to be the best of friends. Now, back to the brig I think. For now.”

  She got up and strode off, smiling as she heard his steps following her. A snake, certainly, but a pretty tame one now. She hoped.

  Transit

  Life aboard Scout settled into something approaching routine over the following days. Wells had explained that it would take almost two weeks, ship-time, to make the multiple jumps to where the intruder was believed to be. So that was fourteen days to learn how to run the ship themselves.

  Doctor McCall had scoffed at first when Wells had revealed this, but her disdain had turned to anger when she realised that there was no chance to give Hal longer to recover.

  “He’
s a human being, not an automaton,” she barked.

  “I regret the necessity, doctor. I would also prefer that Hal be given the time to recover at the optimum pace and in the care of a specialist.”

  McCall wagged her finger at the robot. “Instead of which he’s entrusted to the ministrations of a country doctor..”

  “I would not term you such,” Wells said, “and am confident he is in good hands.”

  “Give me another week and I might agree with you.”

  “We don’t have another week. The intruder is entering a densely populated region of the Luminescence and if we do not intervene quickly, many of our people will cease.”

  McCall shrugged. “I don’t understand what you think we can achieve when all the genius of the Robot Empire was swept aside.”

  “At the very least, we will have data - all readings will be transmitted by hyper-relay to Core.”

  “Oh that’s charming!” McCall snapped. “So we’re the monkeys the old Earthers sent into space to test their rockets, are we? Expendable?”

  Wells shook his head gravely. “Not at all, doctor. You have one key advantage over us - your minds are organic and not susceptible to the radiation the intruder emits. You will be able to get close and, we hope, communicate with it. You will act as our ambassadors in this encounter. Frankly, you should be honoured at the level of trust we have placed in you.”

  “Because you have no choice.”

  “Nevertheless, the trust exists. But to have any hope of success, Hal must pilot the ship, so I ask you to please expedite his recovery, for all our sakes.”

  Over the following days, McCall brought Hal back to full and permanent consciousness as quickly as she dared. Arla stopped visiting because he seemed to grow angry when she was there or, even worse, a darkness descended on him. The day of the wheelchair was the blackest of them all. McCall had decided he was ready to get out of bed and had positioned the wheelchair they’d used to rescue him from the robot hospital alongside. The seat had been raised to the height of the mattress, so it should have been a relatively simple job of sliding across but, as soon as he saw the wheelchair, Hal began sobbing uncontrollably. And then the grief turned to anger as he slapped his numb legs until McCall threatened to give him a shot to calm him down.

  Matters improved little when he began his training. On the first day, Wells lifted him into the pilot’s seat and, when Arla slipped into the navigator’s position alongside him, she could see the tears running down his gaunt face. There was nothing left of the risk-taking escapee she’d first met such a short time ago.

  He made progress despite this, though with no enthusiasm. He would do what Scout said without question, but was merely learning by rote. Arla found herself wondering if that would be good enough.

  On the third day, as Hal waited to be lifted into his seat, Wells left the cockpit for a moment and returned carrying in each hand something that looked, to Arla, like a bundle of silver rods.

  “I have made these for you, Hal,” he said, presenting them. “They are calipers I have fashioned from parts I found in Scout’s stores. I’m afraid they are rather crude, but I have added motor assistance to the knee and hip joints. With practice, and further modifications, they should allow you a degree of movement.”

  Arla watched Hal’s face as the jointed rods were strapped to his legs. His expression had certainly lightened and a hint of the old Hal returned as, aided by Wells on one side and McCall on the other, he stood up, his head almost reaching the ceiling of the tiny cockpit.

  “Be careful,” Wells cautioned. “It will take some time to get used to balancing and to stepping. For now, I suggest we get you into your seat and you can practice using your legs to control the auxiliary pedals.”

  Still supported by Wells, Hal tottered the few feet, shrinking and growing as the knee joints flexed. “I will adjust them later,” Wells said.

  Hal fell down unceremoniously, but laughed at his own clumsiness. He turned to look up at Wells. “Thank you,” he said, but the laugh died as his glance caught Arla.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” Hal growled before looking up at the display. “Scout, ready to begin simulation.”

  Arla sat and stewed as Hal followed Scout’s instructions to the letter, his morose state restored. For a moment she’d believed that a breakthrough had been made. She’d been so grateful to Wells she’d have hugged him if she hadn’t already been seated. But then Hal had looked at her and his expression had chilled her heart. It wasn’t hatred she saw, it was as if that briefly visible light had winked out. It was the closing of a curtain.

  “I am sorry, Arla,” Wells said as they sat in the small galley after training. Hal had refused to use his calipers to return to his room and had asked Wells to push him in the wheelchair. The two had then spent an hour sequestered there. To begin with, Arla could hear regular cries of frustration as, she guessed, Hal was trying to get used to his leg supports. As time went by, however, the noise subsided and Wells left the room smiling.

  “Why does he hate me so much?” Arla said.

  “That is a somewhat immature perspective, if I may say so,” Wells responded.

  “You may not say so,” Arla snapped, knowing that she sounded like a child. “Every time he looks at me, he closes down.”

  “Do you wonder at that? I believed you to be an intelligent young woman, but in this at least you seem to be woefully naive.”

  “And you seem to be annoyingly smug. Spill the beans.”

  Wells handed her a steaming cup and took a seat opposite her at the small table. “He is a young man with a grave and sudden injury. When among other men, even robot men, he puts on a brave face, but when he sees you he is ashamed.”

  “Of what?”

  “That he’s not the man he was. Where once he was strong and independent, now he relies on others for the most basic necessities. He can bear this from a robot and he will accept help from Doctor McCall, but you are different.”

  Arla took a sip of the bitter coffee to buy herself some thinking time. Wells was watching her attentively, like a wise sage with a particularly thick acolyte. His deep brown eyes radiated an apparently authentic concern as he waited with mechanical patience for her to draw the inevitable conclusion.

  “Because I’m a girl?” she said, keeping her voice low. “But Indira’s a girl too. Well, a woman.”

  “She’s also a doctor, and that is how Hal sees her.”

  “And he sees me as what? Surely he doesn’t think of me as his commanding officer?”

  “Yes, that is part of it. There is pride at stake and he wishes to play his part to the full.”

  “What else is there?”

  Wells smiled. “I believe I must leave you to draw your own conclusions, Arla. I may be incorrect, after all, since he hasn’t said anything to me regarding this matter. But I have lived among humans for long enough to be fairly certain. I suggest you reflect on how you’d feel if the tables had been turned - if you’d been the one to receive a disabling injury. Who would you least want to know of it?”

  Arla watched as the robot got up and left. She wasn’t a complete idiot - she knew what he was driving at. She was self-aware enough to know that she’d found him attractive when they’d first met, both his physical appearance and his personality. The revelation that he carried an AI in his head had soured the milk, though, and since then she’d not given him much thought. It could be that this was a simple matter of male pride around a young woman but she doubted it.

  She took her mug to the sink and rinsed it, watching as the water swirled in the plug-hole, pulled towards the floor by artificial gravity. Wells had been more perceptive than her and she knew he was correct about Hal’s attitude. He obviously had feelings for her. The problem was, she had no idea how she felt about him.

  Armageddon

  “It is time for you to see what faces us,” Scout said.

  Arla watched as the hologram appeared to walk across the s
mall briefing room to stand beside a blank display. Wells had suggested to Scout that adopting the form of a young woman would make it easier for the human crew to interact with and accept her. And so she waited patiently - a shimmering figure with long deep red hair - until, with a nod, Wells gave her permission to continue. Over the days since they’d left Core space, it had become obvious that Wells commanded here, not Arla, not even the Emissary - it had not been seen since they’d first boarded Scout.

  The display brightened as a sun rose from one corner until it occupied half the screen. Suddenly, the display popped into 3D and Arla had the uncomfortable feeling that the fireball was spinning just metres from her feet.

  “This is system Vulturn. These records were taken by automatic sensors in the visible spectrum. They have been enhanced to provide clear viewing but changed in no other way.”

  “Understood,” Arla responded. She felt McCall shift in the next seat and sensed the brooding presence of Hal on the end of the row in his wheelchair.

  The view swung around as the sun rolled away to be replaced by the deep black of interplanetary space, stars speckled evenly across the display except for, here and there, stellar clusters like islands in a dark ocean.

  “I was sent to this system in response to a distress call received by Core Executive. The message was incomplete, but it was obvious that the colony on Vulturn had experienced a calamity and had ceased broadcasting. I will now condense my approach to the planet.”

  The stars blurred into a mass of lines radiating away from the central view until, after a few seconds, they resolved themselves into dots again and, in the middle of the screen, a planet sat. Though it only occupied a tenth of the display, it was obvious that something catastrophic had happened here. An uneven black band straddled the equator, with patches of a deep red colour dotted within it.

  Scout superimposed a tactical layer onto the slowly revolving planet with markers in an indecipherable script appearing over the scarlet wounds.