The Cyborg and the Sorcerers

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  "That's no problem; they're just arguing about the apprenticeship system again. Wait here, it'll only be a minute."

  The head vanished and the doors closed again; Silner and Slant waited patiently.

  Sure enough, a moment later the doors were opened wide and the guard announced, "Silner of Teyzha, your audience is granted." He stood aside, and Silner led Slant past him into the chamber beyond.

  It was a good-sized room, circular, perhaps twenty meters in diameter; a translucent white dome covered most of the distant ceiling and admitted most of the light, but lamps gleamed from white marble walls as well. There were benches scattered along the wall. In the center of the room stood a large round table, with seven black-robed figures seated at it. All seven were turned to face the two newcomers.

  Silner approached until he was two or three feet from the nearest, then went down on one knee, motioning for Slant to do likewise. After a moment's hesitation, Slant complied.

  They knelt awkwardly in silence for a moment. Then one of the robed figures spoke, an old man with a long white beard, and said, "Well, Silner, explain yourself. I thought we sent you to Orna with Huarram's party." His voice was firm and robust, in contrast to his ancient and decrepit appearance.

  Silner rose before replying, and Slant followed his example, since he found the kneeling posture uncomfortable.

  "Yes, Councillor, you did send me with Huarram, but he sent me back, to escort this stranger, who calls himself Slant."

  "Phrasing indicates possible doubt as to authenticity of your identity. Deception may be aborted."

  Slant ignored the computer's comment and listened to the white-bearded Councillor, who said, "Indeed. Let the stranger present himself, then, if Huarram has sent him to us."

  Slant obediently took a step forward, bringing himself even with Silner, and said, "I am called Slant, from Tur a village beyond Praunce. I am a harmless wanderer; I happened to encounter your ambassadorial party on the road and was brought here."

  "A wanderer, you say? We see very few wanderers around here."

  Slant shrugged.

  One of the other councillors, a young man with the light-brown hair and beard, asked, "What's that on your shoulder?"

  The cyborg looked at the submachine gun as if he had forgotten it was there, and explained, "I don't know; I found it in the woods southwest of here. I thought it might be worth something, so I kept it."

  A new councillor spoke, a middle-aged woman seated nearest the cyborg. "May I see that? Perhaps we can tell you what it is."

  Reluctantly, Slant unslung the gun and handed it to her; she placed it on the table, where the gaze of all seven councillors fixed upon it

  A sensation like a mild electric current filled the room; Slant's skin prickled, though he could see nothing out of the ordinary. He resisted the urge to look wildly about for the source of the eerie feeling, since nobody else seemed to pay any attention to it.

  The computer informed him, "Anomalous disturbance representing enemy weapons research activity occurring in immediate vicinity of cyborg unit, directly ahead, at a distance of approximately two meters. No visual confirmation received. Interference assumed. Report situation in detail."

  "I can't see anything odd either, just the seven councillors looking at my gun. I thought I felt something, like an electrical discharge of some kind; did you detect anything of that sort?" Although he gave no outward sign and tried to keep his communication with the computer calm and efficient, Slant was confused and astonished. It looked like there really was something new here, something that used no machinery that he could detect.

  "No electrical discharge noted. No unusual activity detected other than anomalous disturbance representing enemy weapons research activity."

  One of the councillors looked up from the gun and asked, "Where did you get this?"

  "In the woods. What is it? What were you doing to it?"

  The other councillors had turned away from the gun now; the white-bearded old man replied, "We were just studying it. It's a weapon, a death machine, like so many of the relics that turn up. There's something strange about this one, though; it's almost new, not more than twenty years old, while all the other relics are from the Bad Times, more than three hundred years ago. Now, will f you please tell us, truthfully, where you got it?" |

  "Question indicates doubt as to authenticity of cover story. Deception may be aborted." .

  "Shut up!" He shouted mentally, nervous enough without the computer's interference; he was out of practice in dealing with people, despite his training and conditioning. "I told you, I found it in the woods southwest of here."

  "Nonsense." It was the middle-aged woman who spoke,

  "Perhaps not; true, it can't be a relic of the Bad Times, but this man might not be its rightful owner," a new speaker said, a man of indeterminate age and curly brown hair.

  "Is it yours? Tell the truth." The white-bearded man's gaze fixed on Slant's face, and he felt a faint electric tingle again.

  "I did tell the truth; I found it in the woods!"

  "Enemy officials are displaying extreme suspicion. An immediate escape attempt may be advisable," the computer warned.

  "No, you didn't. Surely you know that a wizard can read the truth, and that you cannot deceive any of the seven of us. No one can fool seven wizards. There is something very strange about you; who are you really?"

  "What? Wizards?" he said aloud, simultaneously sub-vocalizing, "Look, computer, I …" Slant was becoming thoroughly confused trying to carry on two vitally important conversations at the same time—particularly since the spoken conversation was in a strange language, and involved concepts he didn't understand at all. What was this talk about wizards? Had he walked into the middle of a fairy tale?

  "Deception is aborted. An immediate escape attempt is advisable."

  One of the councillors turned his gaze from Slant and said, "Silner, stand ready; it appears there is more to this man than is readily seen."

  Silner stepped back, spreading his feet to provide a steadier base, and drew his sword.

  "Listen, Slant as you call yourself, we mean you no harm. However, we …"

  Slant did not hear the rest of the old councillor's words; instead, he heard, "Deception is aborted. Capture is imminent. An immediate escape attempt is required. Failure to attempt escape will allow termination of cyborg unit." There was an instant of panic; then he was suddenly calm as his combat personality took over, and with no conscious thought whatsoever he whirled, launching a vicious kick into Silner's belly and chopping a hand into his wrist, sending the sword clattering across the floor. With no sign that any of the councillors was armed, his next move was to dive into their midst and retrieve his weapon. He landed sitting on the table, the gun already in his hand, facing back toward the door.

  Silner was doubling over but had not yet fallen; the councillors had not yet had time to react at all. The guard by the door was starting to reach for his sword.

  His right hand clutching the submachine gun, Slant used his left hand to thrust himself upright and off the table; then he was running across the chamber toward the door. A sidestep and a swipe of the right forearm disposed of the guard, who sprawled backward onto the stone floor, his helmet rattling off the wall; then Slant was out of the room and running full speed down the corridor, vaguely aware of a voice calling for him to wait, the voice of the white-bearded councillor.

  Chapter Four

  TRAINING CALLED FOR EVASIVE ACTION. EVEN IN HIS UN-thinking state, though, Slant knew that he might never find his way from the city if he followed any route other than the straight line he had entered by. There would be plenty of time to confuse his trail once he reached open country; for the present, his first priority was to get outside the walls before the gates could be barred against him. Therefore the only consideration now was speed; he ran flat out down the avenue, gun clutched in his hand, ignoring the townspeople he passed. They gaped but made no move to stop him.

  He rea
ched the gate approximately two minutes after leaving the Council chamber. It was closed, but that was no obstacle for an IRU cyborg; the gates were just wood, and held by a simple iron latch. There were brackets for heavy bars, but the bars were not in place, instead, they lay neatly stacked at one side.

  A flying kick demolished the latch, and the gates, rebounding from the impact, swung open a half meter. Slant landed on one foot from his kick, then spun about and was out the gate, still running, before the astonished gatekeeper had time to react. The man called after him, but Slant kept running.

  There was room now for evasive action, and he left the road, ran across the fields, then looped southward. Ten minutes later he settled onto a patch of grass amid a small stand of trees and told the computer angrily, "Well, now you've done it. I could have convinced them I'd found the gun."

  "Evidence was to the contrary."

  "Evidence, hell! We're dealing with ordinary people—a bunch of near-savages, in fact. I could have convinced them."

  The computer did not reply.

  "What do you think we're doing, anyway? What's the point in having a human do your scouting if you overrule me every time I try to do something you can't?"

  "Information unavailable."

  "What information is unavailable?"

  "Purpose of cyborg unit."

  "What?" Slant was surprised out of his irritation. "You don't know what I'm for?"

  "Programming provides instructions as to when to permit cyborg unit to act independently and when to override or terminate. No statement of purpose is provided."

  Slant mulled that over for a moment, and was about to ask another question when he was interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats, approaching from the direction of Teyzha. In an instant he was on his feet, gun at ready, looking for cover. He ducked between two of the largest trees and waited.

  "Party approaching coincides with mobile gravitational anomaly."

  "Where is he?" The voice was closer than he had expected, and much closer than he liked.

  "There, behind that tree. Be careful, he's got a weapon from the Bad Times."

  Slant cursed under his breath; how had he been spotted? He was not visible and had made no sound; he was too well trained for that. Was this more "magic?" He also found himself annoyed at the second voice's exact words; it was the fact that his weapon apparently wasn't from the "Bad Times" that had forced him to flee.

  There was no time to worry about details, though; he had to keep the element of surprise, and move too fast for the Teyzhans to organize and plan. The gun was already in his hands; he leaped from his concealment and fired a burst at the approaching party, aiming low.

  The effect was shattering and gratifying; one of the half-dozen horses fell, apparently hit, throwing his rider headlong and tripping up at least one of the other mounts. The remaining horses, some perhaps wounded and all terrified by the roar and flash of the gun, reared and bucked uncontrollably, whinnying their fear and trying to turn and flee. Their riders, scarcely less frightened themselves, struggled to control them.

  Slant did not wait to see the outcome of the chaos he had created; he turned and ran, heading for the woods. Behind him more men lost their holds and fell, narrowly avoiding the hoofs of their own panicked steeds; he congratulated himself on choosing the flamboyant submachine gun over the silent lasers and snarks.

  He did not follow a straight course, but twisted and dodged across the outer farms and onward into the forest beyond; he had no fear of losing himself, since the computer was always able to orient him. After a few minutes of swift travel, he slowed to a walk; he did not dare stop completely again. Perhaps if he kept moving the Teyzhans would be less able to find him. He wondered how they had found him that first time.

  He also wondered what the damn computer's orders called for now that his scouting expedition had come to a sudden end. "Well, computer," he asked silently, "what would you advise me to do now?"

  "Recommended action is surreptitious entry and investigation of enemy stronghold for purpose of locating enemy weapons research."

  "You want me to play burglar and find whatever-it-is."

  "Query: Term 'whatever-it-is' refers to gravitational anomalies representing enemy weapons research?"

  "Right"

  "Reference filed."

  "How am I supposed to sneak into a city with a wall around it and guards at the gate?"

  "Query: Evidence of aerial surveillance."

  "There isn't any; it's a preaviation culture, at least around here. Anyway, I think it is; it appears to be pre-technological, except for whatever-it-is."

  "Recommended action is surreptitious entry by parachute or other silent aerial approach."

  Slant snorted as he walked. "You want me to parachute into the middle of a city?"

  "Affirmative."

  "Sure, why not? I can only get killed once. I haven't used a parachute in fourteen years, you stupid machine!"

  The computer made no reply; it was not programmed to worry about rusty skills.

  It was, Slant reminded himself, not programmed for much of anything that related to having spent an extended time in space. The Command had not expected his mission to last that long, either because they thought the war would end quickly or because they thought he'd have gotten killed long before this.

  Resigned, he asked, "Should I return to the ship, then?"

  "Affirmative."

  "Great," he muttered. He slung the gun over his shoulder and turned his heretofore more or less random course toward his starship. After a few moments of walking quietly, letting the gentle breeze and the crunching of pine needles calm him, he remembered the conversation that had been interrupted by his pursuers.

  "Computer, you said that you don't know what I'm for."

  "Affirmative."

  "What are you for? Do you know?"

  "Restate question."

  "What's your purpose? What goal are you after?"

  "That is not a single question."

  "Answer both questions, then."

  "Purpose of computer control complex of Independent Reconnaissance Unit two-oh-five is to provide necessary assistance to cyborg unit in piloting of starship, processing data, monitoring communications, maintenance of all units, and analysis of situation during actions; also, to assure continued loyalty and service of cyborg unit through use of override and threat of termination; also, to terminate cyborg unit in the event of service dysfunction; also, to assure that cyborg unit carries out mission orders where feasible; also, to carry out mission orders in the absence of cyborg unit or authorized human command. Goal of computer control complex of Independent Reconnaissance Unit two-oh-five is not stated in programming, but can be determined to be termination of all unit function."

  "What!" Slant stumbled in surprise.

  "Restate question."

  "Your goal is your own termination?"

  "Affirmative."

  "You want to die?"

  "Affirmative."

  Slant stopped walking, in order to think without distraction. "How can you terminate yourself? Under what conditions?"

  "Programming provides the following termination options: Shut-down order following receipt of release code; self-destruct in the event of capture; self-destruct in the event of cyborg unit termination. Evidence indicates first option is no longer viable."

  Slant was surprised; the computer was aware that their side had lost the war after all, it seemed. "You're right about that Capture's pretty damn unlikely, too, with the war over." He had intended to say more but broke off suddenly when he realized he had just told the computer that the only way it could achieve its goal of self-destruction was to kill him—or to get him killed, at any rate.

  Was that related to what had happened in Teyzha? Had the computer intentionally fouled things up and forced his flight in hopes that he'd get killed? Its programming forbade it from taking any direct action against him as long as he remained loyal, but it just might be subtle enough to try indir
ect action.

  That might be why it wanted to parachute him into Teyzha; it might be aware that he stood a good chance of getting killed. Its orders did not allow for the passage of time, but it might know that humans could lose skills through atrophy, unlike computers; it could be using that as a loophole.

  Then again, maybe it simply arrived at that as the best military option, in accordance with the available data.

  Well, whatever the truth, he'd just have to be more careful from now on. He started walking again, mulling the situation over. For the first time in years, he began seriously considering schemes to detach himself from the computer and remove the thermite and the override from his skull; the discovery of the computer's death wish had seriously jarred his longstanding acceptance of his unhappy situation.

  Approximately three hours later, as Slant was settling to the ground for a brief rest and wishing he had something to eat, the computer informed him, "Ongoing gravitational anomaly approaching cyborg unit from northeast, at an altitude of approximately twenty meters and ground speed of approximately two meters per second; distance from cyborg unit approximately one kilometer."

  "More pursuit from Teyzha?"

  "Information insufficient."

  Slant sighed and rose to his feet unconcernedly; then the computer's exact words registered, and he asked, "Damn, did you say altitude? You mean it's flying?"

  "Affirmative."

  "Damn!" he said aloud.

  Slant considered taking cover but decided against it; it had done no good previously. He also considered attempting to outrace whatever was pursuing him, but that, too, he rejected; the pursuit was traveling at a good speed, in clear air while he would have to dodge trees and underbrush, and there was no reason to assume that its current pace—which he could probably better—was its top speed, or that it was subject to normal fatigue. Instead he simply unslung his gun and stood waiting, watching the treetops in the direction he had just come from.

  A few moments later he caught a glimpse of something gliding above the treetops and moving directly toward him. He checked the gun. It was ready, the clip still almost full; his first burst hadn't used more than half a dozen rounds.