Asimov's Future History Volume 5

by Isaac Asimov

  “Please stay calm,” Darla said.

  “What is it? Have we been found?”

  “Yes. I believe we have. But I am unable to say by whom.”

  Derec gaped openmouthed for a moment. “Put the exterior video up again! Quickly!”

  “I am becoming concerned about your level of agitation, Derec. Please close your eyes and take several deep breaths.”

  “I’ll do no such thing,” he said angrily. “I want to see what’s going on.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, and then Darla acquiesced. “Very well.”

  The sight that greeted Derec’s eyes made his breath catch in his throat. The limpet’s cameras were no longer trained on the horizon, but down at the ground. A half-dozen machines, each different from the next, were arrayed around the pod. The largest was taller than a man, the smallest barely the size of a safesuit helmet. The tiny ones hovered on tiny jets of white gas, while the larger ones were on wheels or articulated tracks.

  He could also see a portion of some sort of cradle or deck which seemed to be centered below the pod. And all of them — the machines, the cradle, and the pod — were moving, proceeding along together toward some unknowable destination like some sort of ice-desert caravan.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded of Darla. “Can you identify them? Did they make any contact with us?”

  “The device below us appears to be a cargo sled. I have no information on the other mechanisms.”

  Derec reached for his helmet and unsnapped the catch holding it in place. “I’m going out. I’m not going to let us be hijacked like this with no explanation.”

  “Leaving the pod would be too dangerous,” Darla said. “In addition, you will lose a minimum of four hours’ oxygen opening the hatch.”

  “It’s worth it to find out what’s going on.”

  “I can’t allow that, Derec.”

  “It’s not your decision,” he said, reaching for the harness release with his free hand.

  “I am sorry, Derec. It is,” Darla said.

  Too late, Derec realized that a Massey Companion was equipped to calm a distraught survivor not only verbally, but chemically. The dual jets of mist from either side of the headrest caught him full in the face, and he inhaled the sickly sweet droplets in the gasp of surprise.

  Derec had barely enough time to be astonished at how quickly the drug acted. Both his arms went limp, the right falling well short of the harness release, the left losing its grasp on the helmet. His vision rapidly grayed. As though from a distance, he heard dimly the sound of the helmet hitting the floor. But between the first bounce and the second, he drifted away into the silent darkness of unconsciousness, and saw and heard nothing more.

  Chapter 2

  UNDER THE ICE

  FOR THE SECOND time in one day, Derec awoke in strange surroundings.

  This time, he was lying flat on his back staring up at the ceiling. There was a sour taste in his mouth and an empty, growly sensation in his stomach. He lay there for a moment, remembering, then sat up suddenly, his muscles tensed defensively as he looked about him.

  As before, Derec was alone. But this time he found himself in more domestic surroundings — a four-man efficiency cabin, three meters wide by five meters long. The bed he had been lying in was a fold-down bunk, one of four mounted on the side walls. To his right as he sat on the edge of the bunk was a bank of storage lockers of assorted sizes. To his left was a closed door.

  That damned Darla, he thought fiercely.

  Though what he saw around him struck a vaguely familiar chord, Derec dismissed it as meaningless — there was a tedious sameness to all modular living designs. A more important question was whether the cabin was part of a work camp on the surface of the asteroid, tucked away somewhere inside a speeding spacecraft, or somewhere else he couldn’t imagine. The cabin itself offered no clue. Nor could it tell him whether he had been rescued or captured.

  Glancing down at himself, he saw that he was no longer wearing the safesuit. His torso and legs were covered by a formfitting white jumpsweat, the sort of garment a space worker would wear inside his work jitney or augment.

  It was clean and relatively new, but there was some wear on the abrasion pads at heel and knee and waist. It might have been what he was wearing under the safesuit, or —

  “The suit,” he said with sudden dismay.

  He jumped to his feet and looked around wildly. There was only one locker large enough to hold a safesuit. It was unlocked, but it was also empty. He went through the other lockers mechanically. All were empty.

  No, they were more than empty, he decided. They looked as though they’d never been used.

  Derec felt a twinge of panic. If he didn’t find the suit, he would never learn whatever information the datastrip on its name badge had to offer. And he had to find Darla as well, or lose the irreplaceable data stored in her event recorder.

  Half afraid that he would find it locked, Derec crossed to the door and touched the keyplate. The door slid aside with a hiss. Outside was a short corridor flanked by four doors. The corridor was deserted, the other doors all closed.

  To Derec’s left, the corridor terminated in a blank wall. The other end was sealed by an airlock, suggesting that the four rooms formed a self-contained environmental cell. Through the small window in the inner pressure door he caught a glimpse of another corridor lying beyond.

  “Hello?” Derec called. There was no answer.

  The door facing him was labeled WARDROOM. Inside, he found a table large enough to seat eight for a meeting or a meal, a compact autogalley, and a sophisticated computer terminal and communications center.

  Derec ran his fingertips across the surface of the table, and they came away clean, without even a coating of dust. The status lights on the galley told him that the unit was in Extended Standby, which meant that its food stores had been irradiated and deep-frozen. No one had eaten here for some time.

  Was it all for him? Was that why it was unused? Or was he a surprise visitor in an empty house?

  He switched the galley to Demand status, and a timer began counting down the two hours it would take to bring it on line. But when he tried to activate the com center, it demanded a password.

  “Derec,” he offered.

  INVALID PASSWORD, the screen advised him.

  He had only the most infinitesimal chance of guessing a truly random password. His only chance was if a lazy systems engineer had left one of the classic wild-card passwords in the security database. “Test,” he suggested.

  INVALID PASSWORD.

  “Password,” Derec said.

  INVALID PASSWORD. ACCESS DENIED.

  From that point on, the center ignored him. The silent-entry keypad was disabled, and nothing he said evoked any response. Apparently the center had not only rejected his passwords, but blacklisted him as well. The systems engineer had not been lazy.

  Returning to the corridor, Derec briefly checked the other two rooms. One was another cabin, mirror-image to the one in which he had woken up. The other, labeled MECHANICAL, contained several racks of lockers and what appeared to be maintenance modules for environmental subsystems. Both rooms were as tidy and deserted as everything else Derec had seen since waking.

  That left only the airlock and the mysteries beyond it to explore. The inner door bore the sonograph-in-a-circle emblem which meant VoiceCommand. “Open,” he said, and the inner door of the hatch cracked open with the ripping sound of adhesion seals separating. Derec stepped into the tiny enclosure and the door closed behind him. Peering through the window of the outer door, Derec could see no reason why the airlock was even there. The corridor beyond looked little different than the one he was leaving. “Cycle,” he said.

  The inner door closed behind him, the momentary surge of pressure on his eardrums telling him it had sealed. “Warning. There is a reduced-pressure nitrogen atmosphere beyond this point,” the hatch advised him. “Please select a breather.”

  “N
itrogen?”

  Only then did Derec notice the small delivery door in the side wall. Inside he found several gogglelike masks made of gray plastic. Selecting one, he saw that the mask was meant to fit over the middle third of his face, like a pair of wraparound sunglasses that had slipped down his nose. The breather’s “straps” were hollow elastic tubes that met behind his neck. A flexible gas delivery tube led from there to the cartridge pack, which was small enough to strap to the upper arm.

  When he put the breather on, however, he could not make the bottom edge of the mask seal against his upper lip to keep out the outside air. With the gap, the breaths he drew would be a mixture of free nitrogen and oxygen from the breather.

  Belatedly, Derec realized that that was intentional. It was an arrangement that not only reduced the size of the cartridge pack, but also left his sense of smell unimpeded. A clever bit of engineering, with a minimalist flavor.

  “Ready,” Derec said.

  “Warning: reduced gravity beyond this point,” the hatch advised him.

  “I hear you,” he said as the outer door began to open. Nitrogen? Low-G? he wondered as he stepped out. Where am I? What’s going on?

  There were no immediate answers. It was cold — cold enough to bring a flush of color to his cheeks. The chill seemed to radiate equally from the ceiling and floor, though they were both made of an insulating synthetic mesh.

  Standing there just outside the pressure hatch, Derec could hear a cacophony of machine noises — hissing, rumbling, grinding, squealing. But the drop in pressure, which distended his eardrums, made it seem as though he were trying to hear through a pillow. Aside from the fact that there was activity somewhere, he got nothing useful out of what he heard. He could not tell what kinds of machines he was hearing, or what they were doing.

  Determined to follow the sounds to their source, he started down the corridor — or tried to. He ended up flat on his face on the cold decking, uninjured but chastened. Collecting himself, he tried again, this time pulling himself along the corridor by the center handrail.

  Thirty meters ahead, the corridor opened into an enormous low-ceilinged chamber. Derec gaped as he took in its dimensions. It suggested armories, playing arenas, open-plan factories. He forced a yawn and swallowed hard, and the pressure in his left ear equalized. Yes, those were definitely machine noises. But what kind of machines, doing what kind of work?

  Between the cold and low gravity, Derec concluded that he was still on the asteroid where his lifepod had crashed. From the structure of the chamber, he concluded that he was most probably underground.

  More important, he was not alone. There were robots moving among the stacks and aisles — dozens of them, of a half-dozen varieties. But in another sense, he was alone, for there were no other people. There were not even any handrails in the aisles to make the chamber human-accessible. The chamber belonged to the robots by default. What task they were so busily attending to, he could not divine.

  The nearest of the robots, a squat boxlike unit with a single telescoping arm, was only a few dozen meters from Derec. As Derec watched, it plucked a fist-sized component from a rack, stowed it in a cargo basket, and retracted its manipulator arm. Its mission apparently accomplished, the robot started away, coasting on a cushion of air from under its venturi skirt.

  “Stop!” Derec called out.

  But the robot continued on, seemingly deaf to Derec’s command. On impulse, Derec released the handrail and went in pursuit. But in the asteroid’s minimal gravity field, it was like trying to run with both legs asleep. He was perpetually off-balance, his slippered feet failing to give him the traction he expected. When he came to his first ninety-degree turn, he went sprawling, scattering a rack of small chromium cylinders.

  Not even the racket from his spill slowed the robot’s retreat. It continued on toward what appeared to be a lift shaft — a circular black pit in the floor and a matching one in the ceiling, linked by four chrome guide rods.

  “How am I supposed to catch you?” he complained, climbing to his feet. “I can’t fly.”

  There had to be a better way, and looking more closely at two robots heading down the aisle toward him, Derec saw what it was. Unlike the picker, the man-sized robots were built on standard three-point ball-drive chassis — like three marbles under a bottle cap. Ball-drive chassis were standard in clean environments because they offered complete freedom of movement. The drawback: here, with the reduced friction due to the low gravity, the drive balls should do more spinning than pushing.

  But each large robot had a second ball-drive chassis mounted at the top of a telescoping rod. Pushing against the ceiling, the second chassis provided the necessary pressure for the dual drives to grab. Like the bumper cars at a revival carnival, each robot needed to be in constant contact with both surfaces to operate.

  Derec realized that he could use that trick, too. The ceiling was low enough that he could push against it with his fingertips while standing flat-footed. “Hand-walking,” as he dubbed the technique, he could have caught the picker.

  Now he waited to see what the two approaching robots would do about him. They stopped short of where he stood and began to restore order where he had fallen down, deftly using their three-fingered grapples to replace the cylinders on the shelving. He waited, wondering if they would notice him. They did not.

  “I’m in danger,” he called to them. “I need your help.”

  The two robots continued their housekeeping, apparently oblivious to his presence. He drew closer and examined the nearer of the two as it worked. It had normal audio sensors, but no evidence of a vocalizer. In short, it was mute. It could not answer.

  But there had to be some higher-level robots in the complex, ones capable of recognizing him for what he was and responding to his needs. The pickers and custodians he’d crossed paths with could hardly be working without supervision.

  Likewise, the E-cell he awoke in couldn’t be the only structure for humans within the complex. Somewhere there was a management team, programmers, supervisors. There was no such thing as a completely autonomous robot community.

  Thinking that there had to be a way to call the control room from the E-cell, Derec started back. As he did, he saw a sight that brought him up short. A tall humanoid robot was standing at the end of the corridor to the E-cell, studying him.

  They stared at each other for a long moment. The robot’s skin was a gleaming pale blue, a vivid declaration of its machine nature. Its optical sensors were silver slits in its helmet-like head, lacking the customary red tracking marker which telegraphed when the robot was looking in your direction. Even so, there was no doubt in Derec’s mind that he was the object of the robot’s rapt and unnaturally focused attention.

  The robot was the first to move, turning away and disappearing into the corridor, hand-walking with easy coordination. Derec followed as quickly as he was able, but by the time he reached the corridor, the robot was already inside the airlock. It took no more than fifteen seconds for Derec to reach the outer hatch and pass through into the E-cell. Even so, when he stepped out into the inner corridor, the robot was already emerging from the wardroom, its business apparently finished.

  “I’m in danger,” Derec said. “I need your help.”

  “False assessment: you are not now in danger,” the humanoid robot said. “Should you be in danger, help will be provided.”

  The robot took one step toward the pressure hatch, and Derec moved to place himself in its path.

  “I’m not letting you leave here until you tell me where I am and what I’m doing here,” Derec said sharply.

  The robot’s answer was nonverbal but perfectly clear. Stepping closer, it grasped his shoulders firmly but gently and moved him out of the way. Then it walked with smooth strides past him to the hatch.

  “Open,” it said.

  Feeling helpless, Derec let the robot go, then turned to see if he could discover what it had been doing in the wardroom. Only two things had chang
ed since Derec had left. The galley was still counting down to full Demand status, but the selector was now showing a short list of selections that were already available. Derec himself had set that change in motion.

  It was the other change that the robot was responsible for. The screen of the com center was no longer blank. In bright red letters, it reported: MESSAGE TRANSMITTED.

  It was then that Derec knew for certain that he was alone on the asteroid. The fact that there was an environmental cell deep under the surface implied that there had once been at least a temporary human presence here. But this little world was in the hands of the robots now, and he was a trespasser. What message they had sent about him, and to whom they had sent that message, there was no telling.

  Chapter 3

  THE ROBOTS’ MISSION

  DEREC TOOK THE time for a meal, which he needed, and a shower, which he did not. But the shower provided him with something to do while thinking, and he had a lot to think about. His presence, his identity, the cause and reason for his memory impairment were as troublesome as ever. And after his excursion, he had a new mystery. Why were the robots behaving so strangely?

  Derec asked himself under what circumstances a robot might refuse to answer his question, which amounted to refusing to obey his orders. Within his understanding of the Laws of Robotics, Derec could think of only two, both illustrated by his experience with Darla: because it did not know the answers, or because it had been instructed previously not to reveal them.

  Precedence did count for something with robots. A robot ordered by its owner to service a flyer would not leave that job to search for a neighbor child’s missing cat — unless it was the owner, not the child, who made the request. A carefully worded command would hold up against anything but a counterorder rooted in a First Law situation. If the robots had been told not to talk about what they were doing, nothing Derec could do would make them disobey.