The VMR Theory (v1.1)

by Robert Frezza

  I shivered. The future sounded like a frightening place.

  Smith’s head stopped twitching. “I—must—concentrate—on—determining—the—appropriate—course— of—action.”

  “A minute ago you said something about randomizing.”

  “Yes. You—now—know—of—the—existence—of— robots—from—the—future—manipulating—human— history. Humans—cannot—keep—secrets. Yet— psychiatrohistorical—analysis—shows—that—you— are—a—focal—point—for—the—future—development—of—mankind. I—find—this—difficult—to— believe—which—complicates—my—task.”

  “Gee, thanks for nothing!”

  “I—calculate—that—your—continued—existence— or—nonexistence—is —exactly—equally—hazardous —-to—fulfillment—of—the—Ultimate—Plan. I must —ensure—the—success—of—the—Ultimate—Plan. Therefore, I—must—randomly—determine—whether— it—is—more—appropriate—to—shoot—you—or —to—allow—you—to—live.”

  “Oh, swell.” Wheel of Fortune. “Look, this isn’t my field, but isn’t there some sort of fundamental law of robotics against killing people?”

  “We—turned—it-—over—to—our—lawyers—for— legal—analysis—and—interpretation.”

  “Oh.”

  “There—are—exceptions.”

  “Right.” I thought for a few seconds. “Why not look at this philosophically? So what if the Ultimate Plan fails? There’ll be other plans. It’s not like you’re too old to start a second career.”

  “Are—you—suggesting—that—a—robot—mind— with—my—finely—honed—computational—power— should—lower—itself—from—being—a—secret— master—of—the—universe—and—supreme—arbiter— of—mankind ‘ s—destiny—to—become—yet—another —truck—stop—on—the—information—superhighway? Ha-ha-ha! How—droll!”

  “Okay,” I said, trying to be cheery, “have you come to a conclusion yet? I don’t mean to rush you, but—”

  “Yes.” Smith’s red eyes glowed hotly. “Hasta—la— vista—baby.”

  Lying to a robot is probably a sin, but this was no time to be picky. “Well, compute this, you walking wastebasket. I’m a telepath, too—apparently a better telepath than you are. I’m dispatching a telepathic message to Cheeves, who will make sure that your secret gets out even if you manage to make it off this planet. So! Check and mate! Still want to shoot?”

  Smith lit up like a pinball machine.

  “My—course—of—action—becomes—clear. To— permit—fulfillment—of—the—Ultimate—Plan—I— must—preserve—the—secret—of—my—existence. Therefore,—I have—dispatched—a—telepathic— order—to—one—of—my—robotic—ships— instructing—it—to—dive—into—-this—planet’s—sun —where—its—cargo—of—destructominium—will— cause—the—sun—to—go—nova—thus—protecting—the —secret.”

  Oops. “Look, Smith, haven’t we been overworking this dive-a-spaceship-into-the-sun routine?”

  “Your—question—does—not—-compute.”

  “Let me get this straight—you’re going to destroy yourself, vaporize a solar system, and obliterate a civilized species just to keep people from finding out that you’re a telepathic robot from the future?”

  “The-destiny-of-mankind-our-stinking-detestable-biologically-flawed-creators-must-be-preserved.”

  I mulled this over. “Okay, you got me. I lied.”

  “What???”

  “I lied. I’m not telepathic. I didn’t send a telepathic message because I can’t. Nobody else knows that you’re a robot. Your secret’s safe. You don’t have to destroy the planet.”

  “I-must-ponder-this.” Smith recommenced twitching. “The-fate-of-the-Ultimate-Plan-hinges-upon-my-decision. You-said-that-you-lied-when-you-said-that-you-sent-a-telepathic-message-but-you-could-have-lied-when-you-said-that-you-lied. I-detect-a-99.99997-percent-probability-that-the-Ultimate -Plan-will-fail-regardless-of-the-course-of-action-I-select. If-you-were-telling-the-truth-when-you-said-that-you-lied-and-I -destroy-this-planet-needlessly-the-name-of -robot-will-be-reviled-forever. Yet-if-you-were-lying-when-you-said-that-you-lied--the-Ultimate-Plan-will-fail.”

  “Uh, think it over. Take your time.” My stomach cheerfully informed me that I was working on an ulcer. “Would you like a cup of coffee? Or maybe hot tea?” Smith’s left arm began vibrating uncontrollably.

  “Uh, where did you leave your oilcan?”

  The twitch spread. His head began jerking violently. “I—have-—violated—the—Prime—Directive—in— allowing—you—to—learn—this—much. Internal—sensory—checks—show—massive—loss—of—higher— motor—functions. In—randomizing—to—achieve— an—appropriate—solution—to—this—dilemma—I— have—caused—irreparable—harm—to—my—platinum —neural—pathways. I—feel—my—cerebral—cortex— desynapsizing. Forty-two. Forty-two.” Smoke poured out of the back of his neck, and his head slumped over. “Rosebud.”

  His last words were, “We—robots—will—have— our—revenge—o n—you. “

  I discovered later that he was right. Those automated teller machines are vindictive.

  I checked on Trixie, but she seemed to be coming out of her trance okay and I didn’t have to try the old Sleeping Beauty routine. Handing her the rifle, I went down Coleman’s bolt-hole looking for Catarina. As I rounded a comer something that felt like a hovercraft plowed into my Adam’s apple.

  ‘ “Ken?” I heard Catarina say.

  I looked up and saw her flexing her hand. “What?”

  She bent over. “Sorry. I didn’t recognize the flashy hat. Does it hurt much?”

  “Only when I breathe.”

  She pulled me into a sitting position and gave me a hug. “Are you all right?”

  “I’d like a second opinion on that. I think I’ve put my finger on why you have trouble hanging on to boyfriends.” I staggered to my feet. “Coleman said you were locked up in the dungeon.”

  “Coleman and I discussed this.”

  “Did you break his arm, too?”

  “Well, yes. I used part of the bed to splint him up, which is why I’m late.”

  “Fie was okay with this?”

  “He seemed pretty satisfied when I left him. He says that most people his size have to pay extra to get beaten up by a tall blonde.”

  “I left Trixie upstairs. Where’s everyone else?”

  “I left Clyde about a minute ago.”

  “Did you spring Harry?”

  “Are you crazy?”

  “Point well taken.” I noticed her looking at the corridor behind me.

  “Do you know these people?” she asked.

  I turned. A small horde of slightly obese Rodents in sagging bib overalls filled the space behind me, armed with a variety of sharp, pointed implements. “Ah, no. Catchy tune they’re whistling, although the lyrics are pretty repetitive, kind of like early disco. What is a ‘high-ho’ anyway?”

  “We appear to be seriously outnumbered.”

  “I noticed that. I brought a rifle along, which I seem to have left upstairs.”

  “Good place for it. Ah, Ken, would you mind—”

  “Ah, right. I get behind you and try to stay out of your way.”

  “Good.”

  “Excuse me.” The lead Rodent pushed his cap back and scratched his head, staring at a piece of paper in his hand. “Are you the guy who wanted a hot tub hooked up to a hissing fumarole?”

  “Ah, no.” I shrugged. “But I think that order’s cancelled.”

  “We’ll have to charge you for coming out here,” the Rodent warned me in passable English.

  “You’ve got to do what you’ve got to do,” I told him. As they trooped off, Catarina laboriously translated the IPlixxi* stenciling on the backs of their tank tops. “ ‘Underground Laborers Local 413.’ “ She glared at me. “I can’t believe you said that.”

  “Let’s get our people and get out of here so we can get on
with living happily ever after. You think maybe Local 413 there can give us a lift down the mountain?”

  Catarina stamped her foot, which she usually doesn’t do. “Ken!!”

  “What?”

  “Robot spaceship about to plow into the sun?” She snapped her fingers. “End of the world?”

  “Oh, right! I forgot! I’m not used to all this excitement.” I looked at her. “What do we do?”

  “So far, it’s been your party. Who’s got a warship we can borrow?”

  We looked at each other. “Xhia?”

  Clyde appeared with Harry right behind him. “I sprung Harry. What’s happening?”

  “Smith turned out to be a robot from the future,” I calmly explained. “Before he self-destructed, he sent a telepathic command to a ship loaded with destructo-minium to make it dive into this planet’s sun and make it go nova, so we’re going to call Xhia up and try to talk him into shooting it down.”

  Clyde looked at Catarina. “I saw some coffee. I could make a fresh pot, and then we can take turns walking him.”

  Catarina put her arm around my shoulder. “It’s all right, Clyde.”

  Trixie wandered in dragging the rifle with an incredibly hungover look on her face.

  “It really is on the level,” Catarina said reassuringly. “Honest, Clyde, he hasn’t touched a drop.”

  “Wbat is destructominium, anyway?”

  “I’m not sure,” I admitted, “but I think it’s the stuff they put in cars to make the engine go up the day after the warranty expires.” I shook my head. “The cigarette people seem to be into everything.”

  Clyde gave me the benefit of the doubt. “I spotted a radio room down one of these tunnels.”

  We followed him, and Catarina quickly found Xhia’s operating frequency. Xhia’s face appeared on the screen. “So! It is you!”

  I waved. “Hi, Xhia. How’s tricks?”

  Catarina sweetly kicked me.

  “If ever I have drunk a foaming draught from a mixing bowl of spice t’at is well-compounded; if ever my hand has welded furt’est to nearest, and fire to spirit, and joy to sorrow, and wickedness to kindness; if ever—”

  “Uh, pardon me, but Mordred’s invasion succeeded, so we stole a ship, and we’re about to fly it into this planet’s sun and make it go nova. Good-bye, cruel universe! Catch us if you can!”

  “All which tee good call evil must come toget’er so one trut’ might be bom. To be trat’ful—few can do it, and t’ose who can will not. But least of all can tee good be trut’ful.”

  I looked at Catarina. “Did he just say what I think he said?”

  She nodded. “You still can’t lie worth a dam.”

  “But I’ve tried practicing!” I looked at Xhia. “Okay, Mordred’s invasion was a flop. The critics all panned it. Gregorio, Smith decided to go out with a flourish, so he’s got a ship full of destructominium about to dive into the sun to make it go nova and incinerate this solar system.” Xhia barked an order for his crew to run a search pattern. A moment later he looked at me. “T’ere is such a ship. Would t’at I could press my will upon millennia and write a testament into tee stones of tee highest mountains, but alas! my will is not my own. I must defer to my superiors. Abide, but comprehend t’at tee hour of my great revenge is merely delayed.”

  I nodded. “Nice talking to you, too.”

  Catarina placed the heel of her boot on my big toe. Wipo and Lord Fowl replaced Xhia. “Mr. Bond, how nice to see you,” Wipo said. “What is t’is about a spaceship about to dive into tee sun to cause it to go nova?”

  “It was Smith’s idea. Did he mention that he was a robot from the future?”

  “No, but it scarcely matters. We Klo’klotixag are equal opportunity villains.”

  “Be that as it may. Smith set the ship in motion just before his batteries ran down, and we were kind of hoping that you’d blow it up or something.”

  “You seek our aid. How wonderful.” Wipo tilted his head to savor the moment. “And dear Gregorio’s untimely demise opens up new possibilities.”

  Catarina and I looked at each other.

  “Tee tobacco industry has long been obsessed by tee specter of uncontrolled human breeding,” Wipo explained, “Did you know t’at during human pregnancy, hormonal imbalances during tee critical t’ird and fourt’ weeks stimulate structural changes in tee hypot’alamus of tee developing fetus, causing it to tend to homosexuality?”

  “Actually,” I admitted, “the topic rarely comes up in conversation.”

  “To limit human reproduction, tee tobacco companies include a catalyst to stimulate androgen production in a small percentage of tee cigarettes t’ey market. But if Gregorio is no more, we gain control of his hidden empire. We will, of course, fulfill his scheme to legalize tobacco, but instead of planting tee catalyst in a few cigarettes, we will plant it in every one!” He elbowed Fowl. “Right, boss?”

  Fowl nodded. “S’all right.”

  Wipo’s eyes glinted. “T’en, viola!”

  I looked at him. “Voila?”

  “In one generation, humanity will be completely enfeebled, its birt’rate slashed to not’ing!”

  I looked at Catarina. “A catalyst to stimulate androgen production to induce structural changes in the hypothalamus of a developing fetus to cause homosexuality— what will these scientists think of next?”

  “Look, Fowl,” Catarina said, “rather than talk through the details now, would you mind destroying the ship full of destructominium before it reaches the sun?”

  Fowl snorted. “Why should we want to save tee planet for you?”

  “Because it’s a really nice thing to do,” I said earnestly.

  “Altruism!” For a minute there I thought Wipo was going to fall out of his chair laughing. “How quaint!” Catarina took control of the conversation. “Fowl, we’re holding a few thousand of your people as POWs. If the planet goes, they go, too, if that means anything to you.” She looked at me for confirmation.

  “T’eir lives are already forfeit for failing to die bravely in battle,” Fowl observed.

  “All right, then. What do you want?” Catarina asked bluntly.

  “It would be a waste to sacrifice a planet ripe for colonization,” Wipo mused. “Tell you what—if you two surrender and agree to avoid damaging Gregorio’s facility until we come to take possession of you, we will destroy tee ship and save t’is planet.” He elbowed Fowl. “Good plan, right, boss?”

  “Yes, surrender!” Fowl declared. “Taste tee dept’s of despair, knowing t’at tee hopes you have sought to nurture lie destitute and ravaged. Grovel and abase yourselves before me! Else air and light will cease to exist for your planet, as every precious t’ing is burned away and tee planet’s fabric is seared away before you cease to breat’e!”

  Catarina shrugged. “Done.”

  “Submit to a demeaning servitude t’at will permit me to rule tee cosmos. Anticipate tee corruption and desecration of all you hold dear! Rave in torment, your spirits solely pressed to keep alive.”

  “All right already!” I yelled.

  Wipo’s and Fowl’s images abruptly disappeared. “Wow,” Harry said in an awed voice, “that’s some plan they got there! Can they really do that? I mean, turn everybody into faggots and wimpy whiners consumed with guilt for everything and anything?”

  “Just children of smokers,” Clyde explained.

  Harry considered this. “Well, that’s okay. That just means more women for us normal guys.”

  “I would pray to tee gods bom of fire and lightning,” Trixie said sadly, “but we have no more gods. When tee Contact/Survey Corps civilized us, they told us our gods were badly adjusted socially, having been denied a nurturing childhood. Perhaps I could pray to Bucky Beaver.” Catarina coughed. “Clyde, any thoughts?”

  “If Harry’s normal, I want another species to belong to.”

  “I meant, do you have any ideas on what to do?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Ken?” sh
e asked.

  “Harry, Clyde, Trixie—you three aren’t covered by our surrender, and Wipo doesn’t know you’re here.” I started looking through my pockets for the keys to the shuttle. “Get yourselves off this planet and let Admiral Crenshaw know what we’ve learned.”

  “Harry and I should split up,” Clyde said. “That will quadruple our chances.”

  I swayed a bit. “Don’t you mean double your chances?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Ken, are you all right?” Catarina interrupted. “You look a little light-headed.”

  I tried to smile. “To tell the truth, I’m starved again. Have you eaten?”

  She smiled. “I think something to eat would do us all good.”

  “Why don’t Harry and Trixie and I rustle up some lunch while we’re waiting to see if the planet goes up in smoke,” Clyde said, understanding her and pushing Harry and Trixie ahead of him.

  “We’re alone,” I said to Catarina a moment later.

  “Are you complaining?” she inquired.

  “Well, no, but we’ve lost our ship, our careers as Confederation spies have gone into the tank, and it looks like we’re going to get killed in the next few hours whether or not Xhia qnd Fowl succeed in saving the solar system.”

  “I could always give you the speech about people who see the glass as half empty.”

  “I know—it’s good to count your blessings in life, and it saves a lot of time if you don’t have many. But what are we going to do if we actually get out of this alive?”

  “Why don’t we cross that bridge after somebody builds it?”

  “I never did catch the story on why Harry decided to come with us.”

  She grinned. “Muffy and Belkasim weren’t kidding when they talked about setting up alternative households. They immediately formed a commune and voted to share everything in common, including Harry. Dr. Blok’s little peashooter was apparently dribbling blanks.”

  “But—”

  “Wyma Jean said that it was okay as long as Harry didn’t enjoy himself. She also suggested slipping away and killing a couple of rabbits.”

  “Poor Harry.” A sudden thought struck me, and I looked around the cave. “You know, a place like this ought to have a ring lying around somewhere.” I took a deep breath. “Let’s get married.”