Asimov’s Future History Volume 8

by Isaac Asimov

  “Are you sure this is safe?” he shouted at LifeCrier, trying to make himself heard over the noise.

  “If it were dangerous,” the old kin shouted back as he pointed his muzzle at the flying thing, “the WalkingStones would chase it away!”

  “But what is it!” WhiteTail shrieked, as the roar suddenly pulsed louder.

  “Remember how I told you,” LifeCrier paused for a breath, “SilverSides first came down-in a flaming egg?”

  “Mother’s whiskers!” Maverick howled. “Is that the bird?” The whistle that accompanied the roar abruptly shot up in pitch and choking clouds of dust blew up off the ground, momentarily blinding Maverick.

  An instant later the whistle stopped, the wind ceased, and the tarmac was silent, save for the distant echo of thunder off the buildings and the frightened whimper of a pup in the crowd.

  Slowly, Maverick’s ears adjusted to the quiet. The great flaming bird sat on the tarmac, stiff and rigid on its three slender legs, emitting only the occasional ping! of cooling metal. A few in the crowd were finally daring to breathe and murmur in low, worried voices. LifeCrier himself was standing with his head bowed, mumbling a prayer that seemed to be in extremely formal HuntTongue. He ended the prayer by nuzzling his amulet. “Well, then!” LifeCrier abruptly looked at Maverick with a madly cheerful expression. “Are you coming with me?” Not waiting for an answer, he started walking toward the bird, his tail held high, his ears cocked at a jaunty angle, his shadow stretching out before him in the long afternoon sunlight.

  Maverick hesitated only a moment and then went after LifeCrier; the rest of the inner circle followed on his heels. “Father,” he heard WhiteTail growling under her breath as she trotted up to join him, “one of these times your faith is going to get us all killed.”

  WhiteTail had just about caught up to Maverick when a loud clang! came from the bird, followed by a massive creaking sound and a deep, unsettling hum. Several of the inner circle broke and dashed skittishly back to the crowd, but LifeCrier simply stopped and stood there calmly, as if he were expecting this. Gasps rose from the crowd as a small depression appeared in the bird’s skin just behind its head; after a few moments it became apparent that a large hole was irising open. Maverick could see that something was moving in the opening, but when he tried to get a clearer look at It, his eyes were dazzled by a blinding flash of reflected sunlight.

  As if the flash was a signal, LifeCrier suddenly dropped to his belly and placed his head on his forepaws: the meekest gesture of submission a kin could make. “Down!” he said through clenched teeth. Maverick decided to follow his example. He could tell from the shadows that everyone near him did as well, with the exception of WhiteTail. She was still standing there, her tail twitching nervously, when the flap touched the ground and SilverSides stepped out into the light.

  There was never a moment’s doubt in Maverick’s mind that he was seeing SilverSides. The goddess was exactly as he had pictured her: tall, strong, and beautiful, gleaming in the late afternoon sun like light off still water. She moved with a precise, icy regality, and yet her eyes literally glowed with love as she gazed out upon the kin.

  Then he noticed the other female, cautiously slinking out after SilverSides. The second one was definitely not a kin — her muzzle was too short and blunt, her fur the lush reddish brown of nut tree leaves in the fall, and she walked on her hind legs as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Still, there was something about her exotic looks that made her terribly exciting and romantic. She was almost a vision of passion incarnate.

  He felt WhiteTail’s breath hot on his ear. “I know what you’re thinking,” she whispered with the barest hint of a growl. “Stop drooling at that exotic wench. Now.”

  Maverick attempted to feign innocence. “Is that really the OldMother?” The look in WhiteTail’s eyes told him that his attempt had not worked.

  His next question caught her attention, though. “And what in the blazes are those ugly pink things with the loose fur?” WhiteTail’s hackles went up when she saw the other beings that were coming out into the light.

  “Th — the one at the back is a WalkingStone,” she said in a halting voice. “And those two silver ones-they must be GodBeings, like SilverSides.” She licked her lips and swallowed nervously. “But I’ve never seen anything like those other three. Mother, they’re ugly!” The slight murmur that had started in the crowd behind them suddenly dropped to silence as SilverSides descended the ramp alone.

  She walked straight toward them: precise, formal, her every movement a study in perfection. Just when it seemed to Maverick that he couldn’t stand the power of her presence a moment longer, she stopped, smiled gently, and laid eyes upon LifeCrier.

  “Old friend,” she said in the soft, warm tones of PackHome kinspeech. “Please stand up. You are my packmate, not my prisoner.”

  Slowly, unsteadily, LifeCrier got to his feet, while those near enough to hear SilverSides’ words looked at him with new reverence. “Great SilverSides,,, LifeCrier said in HuntTongue, his voice reedy with tension, “I have followed your commands. This pack I have gathered in your name; it awaits your orders.”

  “You have done well, Friend LifeCrier.” She smiled again and looked over the massed faces as if she knew each one. For an instant her eyes paused on Maverick, and he felt as if the goddess’s gaze went right through him.

  “Big furry deal,” WhiteTail muttered. “Her eyes glow.” To Maverick’s utter amazement, WhiteTail was not struck dead, nor did SilverSides seem to notice her blasphemy.

  Instead, SilverSides turned back to LifeCrier and draped a companionable tail across his hips. “Come, old friend. We have much to discuss.” Looking over her shoulder, she said something to the strange beings in the bird. The language was unfamiliar-the only word Maverick caught was “Wolruf” — but whatever she said must have made sense, for one of the exotic beings and one of the GodBeings came over to join SilverSides and LifeCrier, and together the four of them turned away from the bird and began walking toward the city. The crowd parted before them like a field of tall grass before a strong wind.

  Glancing at WhiteTail, Maverick found that she was staring back at him with an unreadable expression composed of equal parts of fear, anger, concern, and something else that he didn’t recognize. Before he could ask, though, she turned her face away and started trotting after LifeCrier. “Come on, Mavvy,” she said without looking back, “let’s see if we can’t keep the old boy out of trouble.”

  It gave him a chill, for a moment, to realize just how thoroughly WhiteTail had replaced the inner voice that he used to argue with.

  Chapter 22

  TWOLEGS, FOURLEGS

  AVERY GRIMACED AND put the laser back into his pocket. “Well, that’s that. Here’s hoping we haven’t unleashed a monster.” He turned to Ariel. “Will you be okay while Derec and I go check out Central?”

  She shrugged. “The spaceport’s crawling with security robots. As long as they still obey the Laws, I’ll be fine.”

  “All the same, be careful. Mandelbrot, don’t let Ariel out of your sight.”

  “Yes, Master Avery.”

  Avery started to turn to Lucius and then had another thought. “Oh, and Mandelbrot? How’s the translation program coming along?”

  Mandelbrot’s eyes dimmed slightly. “Not well. I am optimized for personal defense and valet service, not linguistics. The kin inflections are extremely complex, and morphemic meaning appears to vary depending on the social status of the person being addressed.”

  “It’s not that difficult,” Lucius muttered.

  Mandelbrot’s eyes flared brighter, and he swiveled his head to look at Lucius. “Perhaps, Friend Lucius, you use an alternative definition of difficult. I find it almost impossible to tell the difference between bark, meaning ‘Welcome, friend,’ and bark, meaning ‘Strangers attacking.’”

  Lucius pursed his lips, put his hands on his hips, and shook his head. “Oh really, Mandelbrot. If you’d
just listen to the stress modulation on the third harmonic”

  “Ahem!” The robots interrupted their embryonic spat long enough to look at Avery, who smiled paternally at them. “I’m sure you two can get this hammered out soon enough. In the meantime, Mandelbrot, stay close to Ariel and keep your personal defense routines at the top of your stack.”

  “Yes, Master Avery.”

  Avery turned to look at Lucius. “Lucius, you’re our relay. Keep your commlink to Eve open at all times and report anything unusual to Derec.”

  The silver Avery frowned. “Are you also ordering me to stay close to Ariel and Mandelbrot?”

  The real Avery frowned right back. “Would you even if I did?”

  Lucius smiled and shrugged. “Probably not.”

  “Then I won’t waste my breath. Just try to stay out of trouble, will you?”

  “I always try, Friend Avery.”

  “Yeah. I know.” Avery sighed and turned to Derec. “Okay, son, let’s see if we can’t find a groundcar.”

  An hour later, Avery and Derec stood in the atrium of Central Hall, facing Central’s console input/output devices. “So why isn’t it responding?” Avery asked.

  Derec broke off commlink contact and shook his head. “I don’t get it. This is weird.”

  “Sensory impairment?” Avery suggested.

  “No.” Derec shot the console an odd look. “Central’s sensories are fine. It knows that we’ re here.’, Derec paused and scowled. “Let me rephrase that: The information is available to it. It just doesn’t care that we’re here.”

  Avery blinked. “That’s impossible. As a positronic intelligence —”

  “Yeah, well, that’s part of what makes it so weird.” Derec scowled again, and then shrugged and turned to Avery. “The mental impression I keep getting is one of intelligence without sentience. Does that make sense?”

  Avery wrinkled his nose. “It isn’t even aware of its own existence?”

  Derec thought it over a moment, then nodded. “It seems to be fully functional. There’s a tremendous amount of computational power waiting to be applied. But there’s no personality. It simply isn’t... troubled by conscious thoughts.”

  “That’s impossible,” Avery said again. “Try your commlink one more time, and this time tell me exactly what you’re receiving.”

  With a shrug, Derec closed his eyes and invoked his internal commlink. “Okay. Commlink on: Central is acking. I’m picking up some shell primitives — cats, splits — okay, and that’s a t-sort. Now it’s mounting a device. “Derec broke concentration and opened his eyes. “I know this sounds silly, but it seems to be running on pure cron.”

  Avery frowned and scratched his head. “I don’t understand this.”

  “Dad, as I told you on the way over, SilverSides destroyed parts of Central the last time she was here.”

  Avery waved a hand to dismiss that idea. “That was almost a year ago. By now the supervisors should have either repaired the damage or scrapped Central and built a new one. What went wrong?”

  Derec cocked his head as a commlink message came in. “We’ll know in a few minutes. A supervisor has just entered the building.”

  Long afternoon shadows reached out from the city and stretched like giant fingers across the spaceport tarmac. The crowd had long since broken up and gone away, save for one mature kin female that lay in the shadow of the boarding ramp and four fat little cubs that rollicked about in the last splash of sunlight on the tarmac. Ears flopping wildly, little tails erect like flagpoles, the cute little furballs darted in and out of the ship, yipping happily and playing hide-and-seek around Mandelbrot’s legs.

  Ariel, squatting on the tarmac like a football player, smiled pleasantly and wondered if the cubs’ mother would stop growling before her knees gave out.

  “This is strange, Mandelbrot,” Ariel muttered through smiling, clenched teeth. “You don’t bother them a bit, but if I try to touch them...”

  Slowly, gently, she began to reach toward one of the cubs. A deep, guttural growl from the mother reminded Ariel that she was being watched. The growl rose in intensity the closer she got to the pup and stopped only when she stopped.

  “The kin seem to accept robots as part of the natural environment,” Mandelbrot observed, “whereas anthropoid humans are a new and unknown thing.”

  “Anthropoid, Mandelbrot?’, Ariel said with a growl.

  “I was attempting to distinguish between humans like you and humans like Wolruf. If the term offends you, I will try another.”

  “Never mind.” Ariel made eye contact with the mother again. The female kin lay on her side in what appeared to be a relaxed position, but her ears were erect and her eyes were wide and filled with an alert, savage intensity. Ariel continued to look the kin right in the eye. She tried another smile. The mother responded by shifting nervously and looking away.

  Stepping high to avoid the puppies and their byproducts, Mandelbrot strolled over and touched Ariel lightly on the shoulder. “May I make a suggestion, mistress? Stop staring the mother-her name is BlackMane-straight in the eye, and don’t bare your teeth when you smile. In the body language of the kin, these are hostile gestures.”

  “Oh.” Ariel closed her mouth and looked away and was rewarded when BlackMane’s ears relaxed. “Well, this seems to be working. Any more suggestions?”

  Mandelbrot’s eyes dimmed as he sorted through the kin lexicon. Presently he said, “Yes, although this may seem somewhat undignified. Try lying on your side and closing your eyes, as BlackMane is doing.”

  Ariel’s eyes went wide. “Mandelbrot! I am not going to nurse cubs!”

  “Nursing is unnecessary. The key part of the gesture appears to be exposing your throat.”

  Ariel frowned. “If you really think it’ll work.” With a grunt for stiff joints, she slowly rolled out of the squat, lay down on the rough, gritty tarmac, and closed her eyes. Within a minute she was rewarded by a cold little nose snuffling around her ear. “That tickles!” She giggled, and the pup scampered away.

  “Hold still,” Mandelbrot said. “All four of them are approaching you.” Ariel tried hard to suppress her giggles as one cub nuzzled her ear, two more sniffed her face, and one feisty little monster fastened its teeth on her pants cuff and began growling and tugging. “Move slowly,” Mandelbrot advised, “but you may open your eyes now.” Carefully, Ariel opened her eyes.

  She was rewarded by a big lick across her face.

  This time her giggles sent the cubs scampering just a few feet back. The four of them went into a huddle, tails wagging excitedly, yipping in high, squeaky voices. BlackMane sat up a bit more alertly, but this time without the fierce, protective look. As one, the cubs turned to their mother, and she answered with a low, whuffing bark.

  Ariel sat up. “What is it? What are they saying, Mandelbrot?’, The robot cocked his head as if listening more closely.

  “I am unsure of the dialect,” Mandelbrot said, “but they appear to be saying, ‘It’s friendly.’ “BlackMane gave Mandelbrot a bored look, and then made another soft bark that must have meant, “Okay.” As one, the puppies wheeled and charged Ariel. A second later she was giggling like a seven-year-old and covered by a mass of wiggling, licking, tail-wagging cubs.

  “Either that,” Mandelbrot added, “or, ‘It tastes good.’”

  The tall, slender, pale blue robot-to appearances a standard Euler model-rounded the corner and entered the Central atrium. Avery struck while the robot was still in mid-stride.

  “You there! Identify!”

  “City Supervisor 3,” the tall robot responded. “For your convenience I respond to the name Beta.” At two meters’ distance the robot stopped and stood with its head tilted slightly back, as if baring its throat.

  “Beta, eh? Well, Beta, I am your creator, Doctor Wendell Avery, and let me tell you, I am absolutely appalled with the way you supervisors are handling this city. The streets smell like kennels, the transit tunnels are filled with joy-riding wol
ves, and to top it off my son and I came here in an insane groundcar that insisted on driving on the slidewalks!”

  To Derec’s eyes, the supervisor seemed even colder and more imperturbable than was typical for Avery robots. Beta’s eyes didn’t flicker, nor did its posture waver a millimeter as it responded to Avery’s attack. “In searching the permissions list, I find no special privileges reserved for Creator Wendell Avery.” The robot paused a moment, then continued. “In response to your other statements: olfactory cues are an important source of information for the citizens, and the transit tunnels are fulfilling their intended purpose. As for the groundcar, we have surveyed the citizens and found that the majority enjoy Personal Vehicle One’s unique route-planning methods.”

  The robot’s response seemed to surprise Avery. He blinked a few times, shook his head as if unable to believe that a robot was disagreeing with him, and then recovered his bluster. “Citizens? What are you talking about? Beta, the kin are not human, and for you to treat them as if they have Robotic Law status is a serious malfunction.”

  “The definition of ‘human’ is not implicit in the Laws,” Beta answered, as it studied Avery with cold, gleaming eyes.

  Avery bit back his first angry retort and struggled to speak calmly. “Beta, are you blind? The kin are aliens.”

  The supervisor’s head rotated down, and it locked its unblinking gaze on the short man. “On the contrary, Dr. Avery; on this planet, you are the alien.”

  Avery’s jaw worked, but no sound came out. His fingers clutched —

  The robot leaned forward, placed one hand on its hip, and opened its other hand in a purely human gesture. “Please allow me to explain.

  “Dr. Avery, our first mission on this world was to build a city. Our underlying mission was to serve humans. After the end of our first mission, we found ourselves with insufficient data to complete our underlying mission. Therefore, we devoted considerable time to the question of how to find humans.