Rogue Galaxy, Episode 3: The Golem Gambit

by J. Boyett

  When they arrived at the tech mage lab Jan Horowitz was flustered to see them all and fluttered around stammering excuses about the mess till Captain Farraday told her not to worry about it and just to show everyone what she’d been working on. Then Horowitz started going on about how sorry she was there weren’t enough chairs for everyone, at least not comfortable ones, till the captain sharply ordered her to get down to business.

  At which point Horowitz took a deep breath, spent a moment composing herself, and did so.

  The tech mage lab was a cramped warren of four chrome-and-plastic-cluttered sub-labs, empty for the moment of all Horowitz’s colleagues. It was as if they’d cleared out when they heard the captain was coming, to give her room to conduct her presentation. She ushered the officers along into one of those cramped little rooms. They crammed uncomfortably around a work table that took up nearly forty percent of the workspace. Upon the table was a white sheet, covering something whose form appeared unsettlingly like a large humanoid.

  “Um, okay,” began Horowitz. “Ladies and gentlemen, I’m sure you’re all familiar with the major warding spells in place here on the Galaxy. And I’m sure you’ve all at least heard of Keller’s Law of Anthropomorphic Threat, first put forward in 2293. Well, ever since then tech mages have continuously run into the same challenges, until recently I theorized that....”

  Farraday cut her off: “Ms. Horowitz, if you could just start by pulling the sheet back.”

  Horowitz obeyed, a little glumly. Fiquet got the impression she’d been rehearsing this speech.

  There were a few gasps when Horowitz pulled back the sheet.

  Lying upon the table was an eight-foot humanoid construct, its massive form encased in eggshell-colored plastic. No one had bothered sculpting a face for it; instead it had what looked like a mirrored faceplate, behind which would be a bank of sensory instruments. The blank visage provided an eerie counterpoint to its massive bulk.

  Miller said, “With all due respect, sir, I’m not clear on how a robot can help us here.” The confusion in his tone served to mask his annoyance.

  Even in the midst of all their trouble, there was a certain self-satisfaction in the captain’s voice as he said, “Horowitz, would you care to explain to us the special features of this robot?” It was clear that he thought he had something up his sleeve that was about to knock their socks off.

  “Um, well, yes,” said Horowitz. “Um, well, you see, the, uh, the, uh, uh....”

  “The problem with shipboard robots,” interrupted the captain, taking over the presentation, “has always been that, if you program it with enough cognitive ability for the thing to be much use, then the ship’s warding spells mistake it for a golem. As you all know. But Horowitz thinks she’s figured out a workaround.” He turned to the tech mage again, a little wearily, offering her one last chance. “Do you think you could explain it to us, Horowitz?”

  She cleared her throat and rose to the occasion, more or less. “Um. Aye, sir. Well, as you all know and like the captain said, um, the problem with robots are that the ship’s protection spells are designed to guard against golems. And a big humanoid robot acting under the volition of a cognitively advanced AI program ... uh ... well, it looks an awful lot like a golem. Which is why I was thinking that maybe, instead of just running a straight AI, we could, uh, I should maybe try to ensoul it.”

  “People have tried that before,” objected Witch Walsh with a frown. “But then the ship’s spells pick up the unknown soul and attack the robot for that reason. It becomes an intruder-alert, instead of a golem-alert.”

  Horowitz blinked and faltered a bit under what apparently felt to her like an onslaught of criticism, but still managed to say, “Well, yes, but we can use the soul of one of the crew members. Someone the ship’s spells already recognize.”

  “But that would leave the soul donor a vegetable, as long as his or her soul was animating the machine. If that went on for more than a couple minutes, the soul-forsaken body would die.”

  “Well, yes, correct, sir, except if, I mean, unless you use a really tiny sliver of the soul. Small enough not to be missed.”

  “But then that wouldn’t be enough soul to endow the robot with a useful level of intelligence and volition.”

  “Well, yes, except unless you used circuitry. Not AI circuitry, because, like we were saying, that would make the robot read like a golem. But instead you could use thaumaturgical soul-boosting circuitry.”

  “But nobody’s ever managed to develop that.”

  “Well, but, except, I mean ... I have.” Horowitz half-timidly, half-proudly gestured at the robot lying prone before her. “That’s what this is all about.”

  There was silence as the audience absorbed the claim. Then they burst into applause. Horowitz blushed and beamed, inclining her head in a grateful little bow.

  Only Miller was immune from the excitement. “Wait, wait!” he insisted, his hands raised as if to hold back the tide of glee. “Has all this actually been tested?”

  Horowitz went back to shifting her weight from one leg to the other. “The, er, well, the equations have been tested,” she said.

  “And re-tested, and re-re-tested, and re-tested again,” said Captain Farraday. “Chief Horowitz came to me months ago with this idea and I gave her the go-ahead to start discreetly developing it then—looks like she finished in the nick of time. Anyway, even if the situation is not perfect this robot still represents the best possible hope for Lieutenant Summers. And Lieutenant Cosway. Even with Blount in his normal state, I wouldn’t want to put anyone aboard this ship up against him one-on-one, and from how Lieutenant Summers describes his condition now, it sounds like he would kill his opponent easily. But we can send down this robot and, being endowed with a soul, it should qualify under Du’Thokk’s little rulebook. Right, Dobbler?”

  “As far as I could tell, sir.” Dobbler’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “Sir, I’d like to request permission to donate my soul for the mission—I’d love to be the first to ride this thing.” No doubt Dobbler was fantasizing about using that metal first to bash Du’Thokk’s brain in, along with all its planet-killing dreams.

  Horowitz, though, was clearing her throat. “I’m afraid, uh—well, for one thing you wouldn’t be ‘riding’ it exactly. It’s just an itty-bitty bit of soul that goes into the robot. It’s, um, it’s true that that little bit does maintain a tendril leading back to the main soul and its brain, so that in an emergency it can access knowledge and whatnot. But, um, you, or not you you but whoever it is who donates their soul ... um, anyway, that person doesn’t actually consciously experience anything. They just, er, provide the juice, so to speak. You see, the way it....”

  It was becoming clear that Horowitz could keep talking about this subject forever, now that she’d gotten started. Dobbler interrupted her: “So I wouldn’t have the fun of experiencing it as I foiled Du’Thokk’s plans. It’d still be satisfying afterward to know I’d helped.”

  “Er, yes, but, you see, it isn’t quite that simple. You see, the system isn’t quite perfected yet, so, uh, the bit of soul will probably have to refer back along that tendril a fair bit. Because the soul-booster circuits and their interfaces aren’t totally bug-free yet, I mean. So, um, so whoever ensouls the robot and goes down to fight Lieutenant Blount, it’ll have to be someone who understands the machinery and all its principals pretty well.”

  “Okay, so who?” demanded Blaine, impatiently. “Who is it, then? Who’s going to ensoul the robot so it can go down to the planet and fight Blount?”

  Horowitz got started on another blinking fit. Plainly she hadn’t realized that she’d failed to make that clear. “Well, me,” she said, meekly. “I am.”

  Miller looked dubious.

  Nine

  Blount seemed to understand that the shuttle was there for him—he bounced around his pen, roaring and shrieking and biting the wood. Whatever super-strength had allowed him to punch through the board had apparently been withd
rawn. Du’Thokk remained where he stood, watching the descending shuttle calmly, almost with a smirk. In the distance the Helpers continued to sedately mill around the village, going about their errands without glancing up, as if they saw spaceships land in this clearing every couple hours.

  The humming metal-and-plasteel craft came to settle gently to a rest on the grassy knoll—the humming did not disappear, but its quality shifted as the door of the back hatch slid open, the ramp extended down, and the thing descended, its joints whirring, its footsteps clanking.

  That thing was a robot, Jennifer realized, gaping at it in shock. She couldn’t figure out how they’d been able to keep such a thing aboard the Galaxy—if it was complex enough to be of any use at all, then surely the warding spells would have mistaken it for a golem and attacked it. And it wasn’t likely to do her much good—she was no expert, but as far as she knew magically binding duels usually required both combatants to have a soul—one of them couldn’t just be a machine. How can Terry not know that?! she demanded to herself, and tried to peer behind the robot to see if there was anyone else behind it.

  But no. Looked like the robot was it.

  That was for the best, really. To send more personnel would have been to risk them, as well. Even though Terry’s decision lessened the odds of her getting out of here, because the duel fought to win her back would be illegit magically speaking, it would nevertheless keep the casualty list down to only her, Cosway, and Blount, and it was therefore the right decision. Jennifer understood that, and was glad it was the decision Terry had made. She was just surprised, was all.

  Du’Thokk was smiling at the approaching robot as if he were going to invite it into his Long House for tea. He was careful not to let his eyes slide toward the shuttle’s open hatch, but Jennifer could tell that his indifference was a bunch of crap. She didn’t need to be a highly developed psychic in order to feel the waves of hungry curiosity emanating from the guy.

  The robot veered away from Du’Thokk and went to stand before the gate of the pen. Behind the barrier Blount went wild, hopping and howling, slavering homicidally. It was terrible to see, because he normally was a pretty nice guy. The robot, in contrast, was utterly still, waiting to be let in.

  Summers tried to hold in the question that was pounding insistently against her inner skull, but from the way Du’Thokk turned to her she could tell even before he spoke that he’d overheard. “You wonder if this creature will suit my purpose,” he said. “The answer is, yes. It shall do nicely.”

  “Really?” Summers wasn’t sure how much she should reveal or hold back, but then decided she couldn’t let Blount get killed by that thing, especially if afterward the contest wouldn’t even count thanks to a technicality. “Du’Thokk, you do understand that this thing is not a ‘creature,’ really? I mean, it has no soul. It’s a, a kind of magic my people are adept in.”

  Du’Thokk’s lip curled in contempt. “Fear not,” he told Summers; “it has all the soul I need.”

  And with that the hatch of the gate came open. As far as Summers could see, it was merely one more trick Du’Thokk had pulled with his mind.

  Even when the gate started to slowly, slowly swing open, Blount seemed to not yet grasp the significance for the first few seconds; then, realizing all at once that he was no longer restrained, he launched himself with a roar at the robot.

  Never had Summers seen anyone fight as savagely as Blount did then—not anyone, anywhere. It made no dent in the robot, of course. The contraption flung him effortlessly onto his back with one hand. While Blount was rolling on the grass, struggling to regain his breath, the robot advance a few more steps. At first Summers thought, with a sickened feeling, that it was moving in for the kill ... but no, on second thought, maybe it was only blocking the gate so that Blount wouldn’t be able to escape the pen.

  Quickly Blount recovered himself and leaped back onto the robot. It was so tall—about eight feet—that Blount basically had to climb it, like it was a dwarf tree. Blount started trying to choke the thing. The robot didn’t even fling Blount off this time. What he was doing was harmless enough that the robot just let him keep grunting and squeezing its steel neck.

  Again Summers looked down at Du’Thokk. His face was still turned in the direction of the fight, if you could call it that, but she wasn’t sure he was still watching it. His eyes looked unfocussed, his expression glazed, as if he weren’t really paying attention anymore at all.... Was that because his champion was losing, she wondered? Was that how he dealt with defeat, was by simply checking out? This must be the first defeat he’d ever known....

  Suddenly, Blount stopped struggling to wrench the indestructible machine’s head off. He dangled there a moment, blinking and confused. Casting his gaze around, he finally landed his eyes on Summers. “Lieutenant?” he asked, uncertainly.

  Holy crap, could Du’Thokk’s spell really have been broken? “Lieutenant Blount?” she said, cautiously.

  His blinking intensified, and an expression of horror stained his features. “Oh, no,” he said, and collapsed from the height of the robot down onto his backside. Summers was thinking that that would really hurt, if he’d managed to bang his tailbone, when he said in a broken voice, “Cosway. Lieutenant, did that really happen?”

  Now it was Summers’s turn to feel horror, at the way she’d managed to momentarily forget about Cosway. Being distracted by the duel seemed a feeble excuse, even if her fate had been hanging in the balance. She looked at Cosway’s crumpled corpse, where it still lay like a bag of broken sticks outside the pen’s perimeter. “That wasn’t you, Blount,” she said. Then, turning an angry and defiant eye upon the shaman, she added, “It was Du’Thokk.”

  He didn’t even shrug, or smirk, or scowl. Just kept staring into the distance, disdainfully expressionless.

  This must be a true defeat for him, Summers decided—though it was impossible to pinpoint exactly, it somehow felt as if he’d been diminished. Well, good.

  Still, it seemed too good to be true. Hesitantly, she said, “Du’Thokk. Is that all, then? Is that the duel?”

  “Yes,” he said, still not looking at her, ostentatiously directing his attention elsewhere.

  “In that case, then ... Blount and I are free to go?” Again she looked at Cosway’s body. “And to take our dead with us?”

  “Of course,” he said, mildly, almost annoyed. “There was a duel. My champion lost.”

  It all seemed a bit too good to be true. For one thing, Du’Thokk’s champion had not really been defeated—he’d just given up, or rather Du’Thokk had given up his hold over the man. Then again, perhaps Du’Thokk had simply been able to tell that the contest was unwinnable. Of course, as far as Summers knew the robot was soulless and ergo the duel had been void; but maybe the idea of a soulless, AI-driven artificial entity was a bit of a reach for a pre-tech guy like Du’Thokk. After all, no matter how great his own personal power might be, hunter-gatherer societies throughout known space tended to be animistic, meaning they had a hard time imagining that anything could be without a soul.

  Whatever. She concentrated on getting Blount to pull himself together. Hopefully the robot would follow orders well enough to pick up Cosway’s body and carry it onto the shuttle, for the return home to the Galaxy.

  Ten

  Farraday only wanted to savor this moment, to bask in the relief that Jennifer was in the shuttle and on her way back. Soon there would be time to grieve for Cosway, and to do a general post-op on the disaster this mission had turned into. But it looked like Dobbler wasn’t going to let him put anything off.

  Neither was Miller: “Sir, as Head of Security, I think the ensign’s point has some merit.”

  Farraday sighed and turned to the officers standing with him in the shuttle bay: Blaine, Miller, Dobbler. Witch Walsh and Dr. Carlson were there too, ready to examine Blount after his possession. Everyone was looking at him like they, too, thought he should entertain Dobbler’s request, although the Sickbay folks had the dec
ency to at least look uncomfortable about it. Farraday wondered what Blaine and Miller would have said a few weeks ago if he’d told them that one day they would be siding with Dobbler against him by advocating some hard-line position.

  He said, slowly, “I don’t want to discuss this much further.” Instantly he wondered why he’d said “much” instead of “any.” Why didn’t he give them a direct order to shut up about it? That would just feel so excessive and fascistic to him. He knew that if his old teacher Chavez were here, he’d say that was because Farraday lacked the requisite backbone to be a leader. Maybe that was true.

  On the other hand, his mother had been three times the leader Chavez was, and she hadn’t needed to resort to ordering people to keep a lid on their opinions. She’d listened to them, weighed them. Then she’d found a way to shepherd them so that they’d wanted to fall in behind her.

  He tried doing that again, a little hopelessly. “Du’Thokk has returned to his Long House. Basically, he’s gone to bed. He shows no sign of harassing Lieutenant Summers or Lieutenant Blount on their way back up. And Fleet regs are very clear about the prohibition on assassinations of enemies not currently posing an active threat. Especially when it comes to primitive, pre-tech societies.”

  “He’s a very powerful telepath, sir,” said Miller, barely keeping his tone under control. Farraday could tell that he considered “very powerful telepath” an almost sarcastic understatement. “We lack a full understanding of all the modes of attack he has at his disposal.”

  “Horowitz was able to get an imprint of his psy waves,” Farraday assured him. “She’s monitoring for any activity from him.”

  “Sir, what about the next starship?” Ensign Dobbler sounded like he’d barely managed to tack the “sir” onto the question. “I told you what he did to the last ship. What he planned to do to us. He will do it to the next ship. But with one surgical laser strike....”