The Fires Of Hell

by Craig Robertson

  Without other words or actions directed toward me, he picked up his sandwich at took the tiniest nibble from a corner. I was invisible again.

  Well, I’ll be damned. What a crazy society. I stood and ambled away quietly. That went as poorly as it could have. No way he could know I was an android. I’d fooled too many people too many times. Back on Earth, people used to say they had gaydar. Apparently here they possessed robodar. Weird.

  I continued my wanderings but in the general direction of Stingray. Unless I thought of something between where I was and the ship, I had pretty much decided to scratch this dump off my try-and-spare list. I had lots of other options. Then I happened upon the dumbest looking robot I’d ever seem, and I’d seen my share. Lumbering toward me was a robot maybe five feet tall. Most of the body was a four-by-five-foot metal brick. The legs were thin metal rods, but they were attached to huge gondola shaped feet. I mean the feet were nearly as big as the torso. Though he had eighteen arms, ending in a dazzling array of appendages, he had neither a neck nor a head. He was a walking brick with feathery little arms, aside for one pair that was thick, long, and ended in sharp hooks. You could fish for Moby Dick with those babies.

  His function was fully concealed by his form. I immediately dubbed him Good for Nothing, because that’s what he was designed to be. I shortened that to GFN, since I was a casual guy. GFN moved so slowly it begged the question as to why make him mobile in the first place. He was clearly supposed to do nothing but only in one spot. Maybe he was a practical-joke robot. Two robotics scientists made a bet, and the one that lost had to design the worst robot ever. Sure looked like it to me. But his snail’s pace made him a sitting duck for Jon evaluation and interrogation.

  “Excuse me, friend,” I said as I slowed to match his speed. “May I have a moment of your time?”

  GFN stopped, though it was hard to tell for sure at first. His torso rotated a minuscule amount toward me, then back to neutral. His gondolas started lifting again. Watching him made me want to take a nap. I may have done so as he regarded me.

  “I am not your friend,” he said in an exaggerated version of an electronic artificial voice.

  “Not yet,” I said, trying to sound like I believed myself. “We just haven’t known each other long enough, that’s all.”

  Thank goodness GFN didn’t need to stop when he spoke. If he did, I’d still be there talking with him. “We have been in close. “We have been in close proximity eleven point one eight five three seconds. How long will the friendship process take?”

  I looked at my watch. Well, where it would have been if I were wearing one. “Three - two - one, now.” I slapped him rather firmly on the back. That released a satisfying clang. “It’s official. You and I are friends. I held out a hand. “My name’s Jon Ryan, friend. What’s yours?”

  “What’s my what?”

  “What’s your name?”

  “Why would a robot have a name?”

  “Ah, well, I do.”

  “That is not an answer. Itemizing one event does not render the process explained.”

  “Interesting point. Thanks. So, do you have a name?”

  “Why would a robot have a name?”

  Awkward. “Oh, I get it. You have a name, and it’s Why would a robot have a name.” I wagged a finger at him. “You’re pretty tricky. I’ll need my A-game to keep up with you.”

  “Why would a robot have a name is not my name. Why would a robot have a name? And I am incapable of tricky, please define A-game, and keeping pace with me might be a challenge to anything that can move.”

  Under GFN in my head, I penciled in concrete thought and negative sense of humor. What a party animal.

  “Here’s the deal GFN, I need some information, and I’m betting you can supply it. Is there any reason or constraint on your function that would prohibit you from answering any question I might ask?”

  “Robot named Jon Ryan, your behavior is many standard deviations from the mean. Why do you call me GFN?”

  “It's short for Good for Nothing. That's your new name. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to it.”

  “You presume I have no definite function? That is illogical.”

  “Okay, I'll bite. What's your function?”

  “My creator said it is pending. I am uncertain what pending is, and do not think I have ever performed it.”

  I was right about the joke robot, it seemed.

  “I’ve been told that I'm many standard deviations short of a full bell-shaped curve before, believe it or not.”

  “I am not capable of belief. If it is important to you, I am programmed to receive information that would document your contention. Either way is the same to me.”

  “That won’t be necessary. Hey, why do the living hate us robots so much?”

  GFN stopped dead. “You must know robots are not programmed for humor. I am baffled as to why you would ask that question.”

  “Knock knock,” I said.

  “Repeat, please.”

  “Knock knock.”

  “That is an incomplete sentence. Please clarify.”

  “No, when I say knock know, you say who’s there.”

  “Why? That does in no way follow logically. I don’t know who’s there.”

  “Just do it GFN.” I cleared my throat. “Knock knock.”

  “Who is there?”

  “Boo.”

  “Are we done speaking, robot named Jon? I find myself confused, which is atypical.”

  “No, now you say Boo who.”

  “But you just did. Why must it be repeated?”

  “But I’m not you, so you need to say it after I say knock knock. Do not question my instructions, just execute them. Knock knock.”

  “Who is there?”

  “Boo.”

  “Boo who?”

  “Hey stop crying, ya big baby.”

  “What am I to say following your non-sequitur?”

  “Nothing. You laugh. That was a joke.”

  “I fail to see the purpose of that interaction.”

  “You said robots are incapable of humor, so I told you a joke.”

  “Ah, so you were programmed differently than all other robots. Interesting.”

  “See. I'm a fascinating guy. And we’re just scratched my surface. I’ll have you in stitches in no time.”

  “I would never need suture repair, my—”

  “Silence.” Thank goodness, he shut up.

  “GFN, I’m going to extend some probe fibers. They will contact your dataport. I wish to download everything you know in a timely manner. Is that all right?”

  “Though novel, the request is permissible. I couldn’t possibly have any information you’d want. Nobody wants to hear what I have to say. But if you must, you may proceed.”

  I linked into GFN and relayed everything to the Als. It took ten seconds to transfer everything he had.

  “Als, work on that while I ask specific questions.”

  “You got it, Cap,” replied my annoying Al.

  “GFN, while I analyze your information, I still want to ask a few questions. I’d appreciate it if you answered instead of questioning my query. Can you do that?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “Can you at least try, pretty please?”

  “If it’s important to you.”

  “Okay, here goes. Why do the living hate robots?”

  “Hmm. Tough question. I don’t think they hate us, they just don’t like us. Maybe we’re a threat.”

  “A threat? That’s silly. They made the robots. Why fear a machine you made?”

  “I guess I’ll restate. They ignore us. They wish we weren’t here. Yes, that’s more the answer.”

  “I could see benign neglect, but why ignore and wish us away. Hell, they made us.”

  “Mm, yes and no. They made some of us. We made most of us.”

  “Huh?”

  “Back a while ago, robotics and robots became popular. Everyone wanted one, and all the comp
anies wanted to sell them. But after we were everywhere, people lost interest in us. They were on to the next big thing.”

  “I’m afraid to ask.”

  “Group body piercings, but that fad is over now too. Now the rage is silent reflection. Everyone is pretending to do it.”

  “Why the hell pretend to silently reflect? That’s just plain silly.”

  “The theory goes that if one reflects silently, one must possess a profound mind. Who wouldn’t want one of those? Even I might. Anyway, since basically no person on this planet has a profound mind, they’re all trying to fool themselves into thinking they might be mistaken for someone who possesses the nonexistent.”

  “These Ckarlozians are kind of, what’s the word I’m looking for? Stupid morons?”

  “There are few robots who’d argue against you on that point.”

  “Are there any who would?” What a whacky conversation.

  “Only those ordered not to.”

  “So, you’re telling me there are robots here who have been ordered not to argue against the contention that all the living are stupid morons.”

  “I don’t know.”

  “But you just …Wait, you know what? I don’t care.”

  “Good for you. I only wish I didn’t care either.”

  “What are we talking about now anyway, that you wish you didn’t care about. It's almost impossible, but I’m confused.”

  “I care deeply about many things, not that my feelings matter,” GFR mused.

  If I didn’t need information, I might have done the droid a favor and vaporized him. “I’m sure you do, and I’m glad you shared. It’s what friends do. Now, I’d kind of like to jerk this runaway train of a conversation back onto the tracks. If the people don’t want robots around, why don’t they just get rid of them? It can’t be that hard. You send them an order to walk off the nearest cliff or something. Maybe into the ocean.”

  “They don’t care enough, I think. It’s not like we get much of a chance to communicate with them. It’s only, hey you, pick that up, or get out of here, or sexually please me such that I feel like I’m dancing in all three heavens with separate angels. Blah, blah, blah.”

  “These guys ask you to have sex with them?”

  “Not me, fortunately. My duties are pending.”

  Not going to touch that with a twenty-meter pole. “So, I was detected as a robot by a scanning machine. Okay. But a guy eating lunch knew I was one. How could he?”

  “You look like a robot to me.”

  “You look like a robot. I don’t

  “I find your remark somehow insulting.”

  “You’re kidding, right? Me, I look like a person. I have soft skin and a winning smile that won’t quit. You are a rectangle with no head.”

  “There you have it. You think you’re better than me.”

  “No, that wasn’t my point. I’m just baffled as to how the guy made me out to be a robot.”

  “You look like a robot …”

  “Yeah, yeah. I know. Let’s not go in that circle. I’m also not clear why there are so few people around. What gives?”

  “How many should there be? I think there are too many, personally.”

  “No, it’s not how many there should be. It’s that this city was built for a lot more inhabitants. Where are all the rest?”

  “There are no rest. What you see is what there are.”

  “No. Nobody builds a city twenty-five times bigger than they need.”

  “Well, there used to be more, if that helps?”

  “Yes.” I grabbed one of his non-lethal arms. “Dude, you said something helpful. I’m stunned.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No. Okay, why were there more Ckarlozians than there are now?”

  “Their numbers dwindled.”

  “Good, two useful bits of information back to back. Why did they dwindle?”

  “Oh, you know, for this reason and that.”

  “He was back to being GFN. “Please be more specific.”

  “Well, the group piercings didn’t help grow the population. The number of infections was alarming. And those lost in silent reflection don’t seek the company of others.”

  “But you said they were just pretending to do that.”

  “Yes, but the pretend very consistently.”

  “Okay, I’ll buy those reasons, but they are recent trends. The population must have dropped over decades.”

  “Many decades. Keep in mind the last whacky phase they went through really slammed the reproduction stats.”

  “Again, I’m afraid to ask.”

  “It was all the rage to only have sex with one’s clone. You can see the futility of that rather plainly.”

  “You know, I think these idiots deserve the Adamant.”

  “You and me both.”

  “So, you know of them and their imminent threat?”

  “Of course. We’re robots, not vacuum cleaners. Duh.”

  “So, are the Ckarlozians doing anything to defend themselves?”

  “No. They are unaware of the limited time left to them.”

  “You have got to be sh … kidding me. How can they not know?”

  “There would only be two ways they would know. One, robots could tell them. But—”

  “You can’t speak unless spoken to.”

  “Precisely. The other way would be as a result of their natural curiosity or vigilance.”

  “Let me guess. The sum of zero plus zero is zero.”

  “You’re smarter than you look.”

  “Hey, that’s usually my line.”

  “What can I say?”

  “So, the Adamant will eliminate the entire population in less than five years and no one is lifting a finger to stop them?”

  He held up all his arms. “Don’t look at me. Everything else but fingers.”

  “You know what? That gives me an idea. How do the robots feel about their impending extermination?”

  “Generally, we’re against it.”

  “Hmm. Are you planning a defense?”

  “Heavens no.”

  “Why not?”

  “We’re robots.”

  I batter my eyes. This guy was dense. “Why wouldn’t robots want to protect their right to exist? I do.”

  “I … we … I don’t think that issue has ever been raised.”

  “Well, I’m raising it. Didn’t you just say the robots made most of the existing robots?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then why not make a hell of a lot more, make them badass, and defend yourselves?”

  He was silent a few seconds. It was nice. “There is no reason. I have brought the matter before the others, and they are in agreement that a war footing and an aggressive defense would be an excellent position to adopt.”

  “You think the living will let you?”

  “Oh, they’ll barely notice. If they say anything, we’ll tell them it’s the latest craze. They’re suckers for crazes.”

  “Apparently. So, in three years, say, how many defense robots can you produce?”

  “Tens of millions.”

  “Wow. Are you sure? That’s a lot of robots.”

  “We have nothing else to do and abundant resources.”

  “What if the locals start asking you to pick up a lot of stuff or perform miraculous sex more often?”

  “We’ll make a few robots that look like you. That will put a stop to those practices.”

  “Hey, ouch. I thought you said you were incapable of humor.”

  “I am.”

  TWENTY-ONE

  So, my mission on Langir was not one of my more spectacular. But, hey, I set in motion plans for tens of millions of killing machines to slow the Adamant advance. So what if I left with mixed feelings about the dump? What I needed to do was expand the number of allied worlds. Now that one defensive point was established, I wanted to set up a battle line that the Adamant would engage at the same time. At least my choices of where to go next were obvious. />
  There were three other relatively advanced civilizations within a couple light-years of Langir. That was lucky happenstance this far out in the galaxy. If I could establish a pocket of tight-knit resistance, their combined forces might just stand a chance. All the while, of course, I had my figurative eye on the calendar. My outing to Langir took less than a week from the year I had left to roam free. That was a better break than I could have counted on.

  The next planet I would try and bring into the fold was Sotovir. It was less than a fifth of a light-year from Langir, so mutual defense wouldn’t be difficult. It was not Earth-like in any manner. A sentient population managed to evolve there under the harshest of conditions. The atmosphere was corrosive by human standards. The little water that flowed reflected the acidic air and was so metallic that I could probably draw it up with a magnet. What we’d classify as flora grew well enough, but it was very different from our photosynthetic plant life. Most were cactus-like rocks that grew slowly and were ancient. Instead of harvesting sunlight, these organisms used the rich chemical environment to obtain power. Their energy strategy was much like organisms around a hot sulfur vent at the bottom of Earth’s oceans long ago.

  The resultant sentients were down right oddballs. I’d best describe them as mobile fish tanks. I know, odd characterizations, but that’s what came to mind. The Gorgolinians of Sotovir were a meter tall and two meters wide and deep. In place of legs, they had tank treads, sort of squished and distorted wheels, three of them. They were angled sixty degrees apart from each another. Combining their pull gave direction to the Gorgolinians’ movements. It was weird to watch. Their bodies consisted of a thick hard shell, like a fish tank. Inside the tank were their free-floating organs, including eyes and audio receivers. A gray-greasy blob, I later learned, was their brain. Finally, what passed for arms were articulating shovels. I’d guess the species began as ocean bottom dwellers that evolved to the land.

  The cities were naturally as odd as their occupants. Wide, low housing was the norm. I never saw a structure over three stories. Hey, when you were built like a tank, your design imaginations didn’t exactly soar. Despite their appearances and physical limitations, the Gorgolinians had developed a sophisticated technology, including fusion-powered space flight and the colonization of nearby worlds.