Robot Blues

by Margaret Weis; Don Perrin

  No response. Tess glanced at Harry. “Do you think he can hear me? Or could the robot be cutting us off?”

  Harry considered. “My guess—he can hear you. And he could respond, if he wanted to. The comm isn’t tied directly into the ship’s computer. The ‘bot would have to shut it down independently. Grant sent out a message once and the ‘bot didn’t try to stop him. He knows how to operate the equipment. He’s clammed up for some reason.”

  “Either that or the ‘bot clonked him over the head,” Xris said grimly.

  Harry’s eyes opened wide. “The robot would never do such a thing, Xris. Not one of the professor’s robots! They held life sacred.”

  “Yeah, but this one’s got a screw loose. How long until we’re in range?”

  “About fifteen minutes. Sooner, if you can convince Grant to shut down the engines. It’d be safer, too. Otherwise it’s gonna be one hell of a jolt for them when we lock on.”

  Tess tried again. “We know that what happened wasn’t your fault, Mr. Grant. We know it was the robot who stole the Claymore. You’re not in any trouble. We understand that you’re not in control of the spaceplane, but if you could manage to shut down the engines—”

  “Tell him to give the robot something to do to keep it busy,” Xris suggested.

  Tess nodded. “That’s a good idea. Mr. Grant. Tell the robot to ... uh ... run a detailed analysis on all of the Lanes in this sector. While it’s busy doing this, Mr.

  Grant, Pilot Luck will instruct you in the correct procedure for shutting down the engines.”

  “No,” came the unexpected response, “no, I can’t do that.” Grant’s voice quavered. “I think it would be better if you just went ahead and ... and shot us.”

  “Mr. Grant—” Tess began.

  “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused,” Grant went on, his voice growing firmer. “The keys to the museum are in the mailbox. I’ve left my collection to the Aeronautics Institute on XIO—”

  “Mr. Grant!” Tess was finally able to cut in. “We don’t want to shoot you. We have no reason to shoot you. Look, I understand that you may not want to risk interfering with the robot—”

  “It’s not that. It’s what the robot plans to do. It’s going to— Oh, dear! You better hur—”

  His voice was cut off.

  The Claymore made what appeared to be a convulsive leap and then it vanished.

  “Damn,” said Harry, impressed. “I didn’t see that coming! They made the Jump to hyperspace,” he added, for the edification of those on the bridge.

  “No kidding,” Xris snapped. “Can we catch them?”

  “Yes,” Tess said. Back on the comm, she hailed the fighters. “Did the tick tracking device pick up on their coordinates?”

  Xris was familiar—all too familiar—with how the tick devices worked. He’d had an unfortunate experience with one not long ago, in fact. Just before a plane entered one of the space Lanes, the tick would transmit the coordinates of the Lane. The pursuer would know exactly where and when the Claymore would emerge from hyperspace.

  “Yes, we have them, Captain,” reported the fighter pilot. “Feeding them to you now.”

  “Can we catch it on the other side?” Tess asked anxiously.

  “No problem.” Harry was confident. “We wait until the instruments indicate that it’s safe for us to make the Jump and then we Jump. We use the same Lane, come out the other end, not far behind them.”

  Harry stared at the nav computer. “All right, they’re in the Lane. This is a real short lane. They’re in there, all right. They’re ... out. They’re out of the Lane.

  “Okay, the coordinates of the Lane have been fed to the nav, and we’re preparing to make the Jump.” He was on the comm. “Strap yourselves in! I repeat, strap ... Oh, shit!”

  The words echoed through the spaceplane.

  “What do you mean, ‘Oh, shit’?” Xris demanded. “Look. This is no time to be reading the goddam instruction manual.”

  Harry was flipping hurriedly through the nav computer manual. “I know. But this damn nav computer doesn’t show that Lane anymore. The computer’s on the fritz. Must be. I gotta recalibrate the whole damn thing.”

  Tess was fuming. “God! I knew I should have brought my own pilot. This—”

  Xris was on the comm. “Doc, get up here, right now!”

  Harry was reading aloud from the “If This Goes Wrong” chapter of the manual. Quong entered the flight deck, followed by Jamil.

  “What’s going on?” Jamil demanded. “Where’s the plane we’re supposed to catch? We lost it on our instruments.”

  Raoul and the Little One flattened themselves against a bulkhead to make room.

  “The plane made the Jump,” Xris informed them. “We were going to follow it, but the blasted computer’s gone haywire. Doc, help Harry fix the nav computer.”

  Tycho entered the flight deck. He had to nearly fold in half to squeeze in. The deck was designed for three, and now seven were jammed into it.

  “Son of a bitch,” said Harry softly, slowly. “There’s nothing wrong with the computer, Xris.”

  “Come off it, Harry. There must be. Doc, take over.”

  “Harry is right, my friend,” Quong announced. “The nav computer is functioning perfectly. It is the Lane that is gone.”

  Tess paled. “What do you mean . . . the Lane is gone?”

  “It’s just gone!” Harry was starting to sweat. “I swear to God, Xris. It was there and now it’s ... it’s gone! I’ve never seen anything like this before,” he added, his gaze searching space, as if he could find the missing Lane. “I’ve never heard of such a thing happening before! It ain’t natural!”

  “The Lanes aren’t natural, you idiot,” Xris returned. “The robot laid them and— By god!”

  He and Tess and Dr. Quong reached the same conclusion at the same time. They stared at each other, appalled.

  “Is that possible?” Tess asked, awed.

  “The robot giveth and the robot taketh away,” Dr. Quong murmured. “Yes, that is eminently possible. In fact, I would say that is what has occurred. I suspected something like this might happen, but I didn’t have enough data.”

  “That’s why Grant told us to shoot the plane down,” Xris said. “He knew. The robot told him. He realized the danger.”

  “Knew what?” Harry asked. “What are you three talking about? You’re always doing this to me—”

  “The robot isn’t laying Lanes,” said Xris. “It’s taking them out.”

  Harry blinked, dazed. “The robot’s taking Lanes out. Do you know what that means? If there was a ship or a plane in one of those Lanes ...”

  “R-r-r-rip,” said Raoul, with a roll of the tongue.

  Chapter 33

  “Excellent!” I cried.

  “Elementary,” said he.

  Sir Alfred Conan Doyle, The Hound of the Baskervilles

  Darlene Mohini sat in front of her computer, which was on the desk in her small stateroom, staring out the window directly opposite. She was staring at nothing, really. The black void, with its pinprick stars, held no interest for her and thus she used it as an artist uses a canvas, painting her own thoughts, her own musings onto what was an essentially blank and uninteresting surface. Having lived in that black void for many years, she had long ago outgrown the wonder and awe felt by the first-timer space traveler.

  Actually, if Darlene had been paying particularly close attention to one tiny spot in the dark and star-pocked vista in front of her, she would have seen several of those bright lights moving, for this sector of space was well-traveled. It was a major trade route, and it was also popular with the luxury cruise ships that sailed to the resort world of Moana, a world which was ninety-percent water, a world in which cities floated both on top of and beneath the surface, a world of spectacular beauty and amazing aquatic life-forms and some of the best surfing in the galaxy.

  Darlene didn’t see ships or stars. She was thinking about her “old colleg
e prof,” Professor Lasairion.

  The information she had on the professor was sparse and not very helpful. She knew enough to guess that the ‘bot Xris had been hired to steal was probably one of the professor’s Lane-laying robots. Such a find would be very interesting, if you were an archaeologist or a devotee of space flight history, neither of which described Xris. Darlene was wondering why he’d asked her to study up on the subject, when the vidphone buzzed.

  Darlene swiveled in her chair to face the screen.

  It was Xris, still in uniform. “Hi, dear,” she said to him. “I enjoy hearing from you, but twice in one day? I hope nothing’s wrong. Little Harry didn’t get his head caught in the banister again, did he?”

  Xris smiled—the smile that was rarely a complete smile, involved one side of his mouth only and sometimes glimmered in his one natural eye.

  “The kids are fine. We’re all fine, including Professor Lasairion. The reason I called is that a message just came in for you. From your old job. They said it was urgent. Amy Dixter wants you to get in touch with her. She’s got some computer files she wants you to download. She says she’s sorry it’s your vacation and all, but that you’re the only one who can handle this.”

  Amy Dixter . . . Darlene was momentarily baffled, then she caught on. Or thought she did.

  “Amy Dixter? Are you sure? We had a little disagreement, you know.”

  Xris waved away that consideration with a motion of his hand. “Completely forgotten. Call her at the old number.”

  “I’d love to, dear,” Darlene returned cautiously. “But the last time I tried to call, the number had been disconnected.”

  “It’s hooked up again,” Xris said. “Amy Dixter needs to talk to you as soon as possible. You can get through on the old number. You’ll log on right away, won’t you?”

  “Sure. If you’re certain that the old number works....”

  “I’m certain. I have go now. Love you!” Xris waved at her.

  “Love you, too, dear,” Darlene said.

  The transmission ended.

  Darlene sat, mystified, staring at the vidphone screen, playing both conversations over again in her mind. The first she’d figured out easily. A new boss, Xris had said. One who was a royal pain and very demanding. That could only be His Majesty, translated: Xris and the team were working for the government. But now—Amy Dixter. A. Dixter. Lord Admiral Dixter. The team was working for the government, specifically the Royal Navy. The old number. That would have to be her files at RFComSec.

  The last time she’d tried to access those files—admittedly by going through a “back door”—the computer had turned on her, sent a “worm” after her. But then, at that time, the Navy had been acting under the assumption that Major Darlene Mohini was a traitor. Now ...

  Darlene went to the computer, sat down. She rested her lingers on the keys. This would be a typed transmission. Voice wasn’t approved, wouldn’t be recognized. She wondered, at first, if she could remember her access code, had a momentary flutter of panic when it didn’t immediately come to mind.

  Panic eased. The code was there, inside her fingertips, if nowhere else. She’d typed that entry at least once a day, every day, for years. She wasn’t likely to forget—ever.

  The Royal Navy would dearly love to get their hands on her, erase from her mind all the information on codes, secret bases, classified plans, classified weapons, on all the other interesting and dangerous material that she carried in her head. The Navy had some hold over Xris and the others, but they were able to operate freely. No one was asking her to give herself up in exchange. Xris was smart enough and savvy enough and suspicious enough not to let the Navy make a monkey of him, trick him into revealing Darlene’s location.

  Darlene was weighing her options when she had a momentary image of Xris stomping around, seething with impatience, waiting for word that she had logged on. She grinned, shook her head. He was the one who had always liked to kick the door down, rush in, guns blazing. She was the one to stand out in the hall and say, “What if ...”

  What if ...

  Oh, the hell with it!

  Darlene typed in the code.

  It took the usual amount of time to get through the passwords, the counter-passwords, the genuflecting, the performing of the ritual sacrifices necessary in order to propitiate the Security Gods, gain admittance to the secret temple.

  Once there, she did her business swiftly—got in, got out. Only one file was listed. She downloaded that file in microseconds, logged off, assuming—probably correctly—that “Amy” Dixter would get peeved if Darlene made any attempt to roam around the sacred grounds.

  The file was safely in her computer.

  Now intensely curious, Darlene brought it up.

  Xris was on screen.

  She grinned at him, though she knew he couldn’t see her. He was just a prerecorded image.

  “Well, at least now we can talk like regular people,” he said. “None of that husband/wife crap. First, I heard about the poisoning from Raoul. I’m sorry it happened, friend. I hope it won’t happen again, that you’re safe from them. But you and I both know the Hung. Don’t let down your guard. Not for a minute.”

  “I won’t, Xris,” she promised, though he couldn’t hear her.

  He went on. “You probably thought one of my circuits had come unplugged when I asked you to find out whatever you could about Professor Lasairion and his robots. The ‘bot Jamil and I stole is one of them. God knows now I wish I’d never seen the damn thing. We stole the robot, but it paid us back. It ran off with our Claymore.”

  “Good grief!” Darlene exclaimed.

  “Yeah,” Xris said, as if he had heard her. “It’s a long story. You’ll find it all in here, including my own personal log. It’ll make for entertaining reading. To put it briefly: As you probably found out, this ‘bot is a Lane-laying robot.”

  “()h, my ...” Darlene exhaled in a soundless whistle. She thought she guessed what was coming. “The ‘bot has the Claymore, it’s going out to lay Lanes.”

  “The ‘bot has the Claymore,” Xris was saying. “The damn thing’s out there removing Lanes.”

  “Removing!” Darlene repeated, trying to assimilate this new and unforeseen information.

  “It’s taken out only one Lane so far—a Lane we tried to Jump into. Fortunately, the Lane was gone before we leaped into it. If not ... if we’d been inside that Lane when the ‘bot took it out ... well, as Raoul put it, ‘R-r-rip!’ “

  “Dear God,” Darlene murmured.

  “We know where the ‘bot is,” Xris continued. “The Navy fired a tick into the Claymore. The problem is, we can’t catch it, because we don’t dare Jump into a Lane anywhere near it. The Navy’s sent planes, but they’ve got the same problem we have.”

  “Why?” Darlene said to herself. “Why is the robot taking out Lanes? There must be some reason.”

  “Dr. Quong, our resident robot expert, thinks that the ‘bot must be operating on a preprogrammed pattern. We know what Lane the ‘bot has taken out. What we need now is for someone to determine what Lane the ‘bot is going to take out next. The Navy can safely send fighters to intercept it. We need to do this fast. Next time the robot strikes, it might take out a Lane when there’s a ship inside.

  “I’ve given you all the data we have on the robot and the Collimated Command Receiver Unit.”

  Someone said something in the background. Darlene thought she recognized Dr. Quong’s voice.

  “Oh, yeah,” Xris said, taking out a twist, “I guess I forgot to tell you that part. A fellow named Grant has this Collimated Command Receiver Unit. It’s been talking to the robot.

  “As you can see from the coordinates, the robot is still in the same sector of space we’re in. It’s still relatively close. We might be able to reach it before it Jumps again if we can figure out what Lane it’s going to Jump into. Anticipate its next move.

  “The Navy has its top people working on this. You used to be one of them a
nd the Lord Admiral hopes that you’ll look all this over and see what you come up with. Use the same log-on if you find anything. RFCom-Sec will patch you through to me. Good luck and take care of yourself.”

  Xris’s image flashed off, to be replaced by a screen full of text—everything Darlene had never wanted to know about an ancient Lane-laying (and Lane-removing) robot and Collimated Command Receiver Units.

  Darlene leaned her arms on the table, drew closer to the screen, began to read.

  She completed studying the data the Navy had accumulated on the robots, much of which was classified. They had found several of the ‘bots, over the years, and had studied them, in an attempt to try to learn how to lay Lanes. The studies had not been fruitful. Apparently the robots on their own had not been able to lay Lanes. The professor had given them instructions, which they had then followed. It required the Collimated Command Receiver Unit, every time, for a Lane to be laid.

  “That’s it,” Darlene realized. “The robot sends a message to the professor saying that it has found an ideal location for a Lane. The professor sends the signal via the Collimated Command Receiver Unit, which activates the robot’s Lane-laying programming. It lays the Lane. The professor checks the Lane out, determines if it meets his criteria for space Lanes—whatever that may be—and then sends a signal to the robot telling it that the Lane is okay and that it should go on to the next. But what if the professor didn’t like the location of the Lane? He would communicate to the robot that the Lane was faulty and that it should be taken out.

  “Let’s see.” Darlene replayed the situation as she knew it, both from Xris’s log and the Navy’s files. “The Collimated Command Receiver Unit is stashed away in Grant’s museum. He leaves it turned on, plugged in, uses it for a high-tech table lamp. The Navy finds the robot. They can’t recover it, due to the bad relations with Pan-dor, but they send one of their intelligence people— Captain Strauss—to investigate. She sneaks onto the downed plane, finds the robot, reports that it doesn’t work.

  “Odd,” Darlene muttered to herself. “Of course, Strauss didn’t have any sophisticated equipment, but if Xris caused the robot to turn on just by jostling it with his shoulder ... mmmmm. Oh, well. Maybe she was interrupted. Security came around or something.