Against his better judgment, Dillingham returned to the pit and peeked down. The Jann lay sprawled at the bottom, its head-bulb dim.
He sighed with relief and began the long hike back to the spaceport. He had, at any rate, performed his mission. He had cured the toothache. His only concern now was to get back to the University.
He walked for hours. His bag grew heavy, but he refused to discard it. His feet developed blisters and his tongue became parched, but there seemed to be nothing he could drink here. The lone stream he passed turned out to be dilute machine oil—and gritty. He had not realized how far they had come in the floater.
Despite his discomfort his mind kept circling back to the shining Jann. What a contrast—that marvellous ancient machine, compared to the cowardly little green robot! The operation had been successful, he thought wryly, but the patient died. The image of it tormented him—lying there, dying there, for lack of power. Had that been his service to it? Death in lieu of pain? "O mortal," it had pleaded, "wouldst desert me...?'Yet he had left it.
But it wanted to kill him! He was lucky to have escaped with his life! He would be a fool ever to get near the ungrateful machine again!
That fading appeal nagged at him, even so.
Finally he reached the spaceport and staggered into the ALIEN LIFE SYSTEMS SUPPORT section. It was cramped and hot, but had the supplies he needed for the moment. He gulped water, then carefully bandaged his smarting feet. His job here was done.
Except for that last plea...
"The Jann," he inquired, not idly. "What kind of moral standards did they have? Did they ever make oaths, for instance, and keep them?"
The station's interior translator cleared its dusty speakers and answered him: "The ancient Jann robots were compulsively moral, and were mighty oath makers. Their circuitry was so constructed that they were unable ever to reverse an oath once made, or to allow anything short of total incapacity to hinder its performance."
So that was what he was up against!
But to let that noble creature simply lie there, knowing that not one of the frightened natives would help it...
"What power source did the Jann employ?"
"They normally used a unique powerpack whose secret expired with them," the translator said. "A tiny unit would sustain them in full activity for many centuries. But in an emergency they were able to draw on almost any available source.
Except sunlight, evidently, or radio waves, or the heat of the ground. Though perhaps such things had helped to recharge the Jann's unit, so that it could last forty centuries in spite of the short-circuit. "How long before the next liner to the University of Dentistry, or that vicinity?"
"Eighteen hours, approximately."
Time enough. "Summon an individual floater for me, stocked with a spare charge-cell. I'll drive it myself." He knew that his status as a representative from a Galactic University guaranteed his interplanetary credit. He could order virtually anything and have it delivered without challenge. If his charges became excessive, the University would settle without a whimper—and call him to account in private. That way its image was protected.
The floater was waiting outside as he eased himself along on his blisters. He mounted and set it in motion. The controls were standard.
In minutes he was back at the pit. The Jann lay where he had left it, spread unceremoniously face down. Its light glowed a trifle more brightly, however, suggesting that its cell had recharged a little. It might eventually have recovered enough power to crawl out by itself—were it not for the hazard of that temporary bridge he had installed.
Dillingham lifted out the charge-cell and set it beside the robot. "I have brought you a temporary power supply," he said. "This is not to imply that I approve of your attitude, one bit—but it is against my principles to let any creature suffer or die if I am able to prevent it. So here is your reprieve—and by the time you hook it up and assemble it, I'll be gone. You'll have to find your own permanent supply, as I suspect this will sustain you only a few hours. Good luck."
The Jann's shining hand dragged towards the cell, and Dillingham knew it would make use of that power somehow. He jumped into the floater and took off. "None but I..." he heard as he left.
What kind of a fool was he? This Jann was murder! But he knew the answer: he was the same kind of fool who had thrown away his study-time in order to help a disreputable Oyster who claimed to be in pain. That had worked out well for him—but he could expect no similar reprieve this time. He was dealing with an inflexible machine, not a subjective animate, this time. He'd better be off the planet before the Jann got fully organized.
"None but I..."
Dillingham jumped, almost overturning the floater. He was a mile from the pit and travelling at high speed, yet it had sounded as though the Jann were near at hand. He looked around nervously,
"None but I shall do thee die." It was the floater's transcoder!
He relaxed. Naturally the Jann would be able to tap into such a device. Its body was one big electronic apparatus.
"I see you're back in form already," he replied.
"And my thanks to thee, mortal. For the second time thou hast preserved me from a fate forse than destruction. Thy primitive power cell is insufficient to sustain levitation, but I am now able to walk to a better supply. Then I shall seek thee out, for none but I shall—"
"I understand." Levitation? The Jann was advanced; he had never heard of this ability in a robot, before. That probably meant the quaint-talking demon could catch him in the floater, or anywhere else on the planet. He suddenly felt less secure. In fact, something very like a chilly perspiration was showing up. "How long will it take you to get better power?"
"There is a Jann unit in serviceable condition buried within ten miles of me. Twenty minutes will suffice, counting the time required to drill down to it. Then shall I be fully mobile again."
Twenty minutes! His liner to the University wouldn't leave for many hours.
The spaceport was coming into sight, but this did not cheer him. Where could he hide from a virtually omniscent killer robot?
"Jann, are you sure you have to kill me?"
"Mortal, I must do thee die, for so I have sworn."
"There's no leeway, no loophole—?"
"Only if thou shouldst die before I get to thee."
"You couldn't just write this one off as a bad debt?"
"None but I—"
"I remember the expression." But had there been a note of regret in it this time? "I just thought the circumstances might—"
"Shall do thee die." No—the tone was final.
Dillingham tried once more. "Jann, your oath to kill your benefactor was for the first time you were saved. Don't you owe me another oath for the second time?"
"I had not thought of it, mortal. I shall give thee the prior oath: to fulfill three wishes. That should acquit me honourably."
"Excellent. My first wish is to cancel the other oath."
There was something like a chuckle. "Not so fast, mortal. Thou canst not gainsay a Jann oath in such fashion. Only after the first has been acquitted may thou invoke the next."
"But how can I invoke—I mean, revoke it after I'm dead?"
"Mortal, I did not write the Code of the Jann; I only obey it. First oath first."
So much for that. Dillingham drew up to the centre, paused a moment to collect his morale, and hurried to the ticket counter. "Book me aboard the first ship out of here. Anywhere. Is there one within fifteen minutes?"
The blue robot with the rubber-stamp digits looked startled. "Is something the matter, Director?"
"Your Jann wants to kill me."
"That's too bad. We were afraid of something like that. Do you mind removing yourself from the building before the Jann catches up to you? We're not insured against acts of war."
"Acts of war!"
"No peace treaty was ever concluded with the Jann, since we thought them extinct. So we're still at war. If it destroyed this station to get at you—"
Dillingham suspected it was useless to shout at a machine, but was tempted. "Did it occur to you that the moment the Jann dispatches
me,
it will be free to resume full-scale hostilities against you? Now if you'd like me to go out to meet it—"
"Oh, no—it would be better if you lived for a while, at least until we can prepare our defences."
"Just put me on a ship in time and you'll have no problem," Dillingham said dryly. Who would have expected the quiet profession of prosthodontics to lead to this?
He found himself aboard a scow lurching off to Hazard, a planet devoted largely to winter sports for woolly mammoths. He didn't care; at least it had an up-to-date spaceport, and it would be a simple matter to re-embark for the University. Once home, he could check out ways to nullify the Jann, should it actually follow him into space.
But why wait? "Creature-to-creature call to Director Oyster, School of Prosthodontics, University of Dentistry," he said to the translator, and identified himself for the charges. That was one thing about the translators: they all seemed to know all languages, even his. Probably there was a complex network, so that—
"Good to hear you," Oyster said. Even though this was a was a translation of a voice many light-years distant, the typical clammish nuances came through clearly. "How soon will you be back?"
"Not soon enough, I'm afraid. You see, I'm headed in the wrong direction, and—"
A rough, somewhat nasal voice cut in. "We demand grades based on longevity-in-programme, and tuition reduction for difficult courses. Furthermore—"
What was this—a crossed connection?
"Ridiculous!" Oyster exclaimed. "I'll make you a counteroffer: longevity-in-programme based on your grades, and cessation of tuition after graduation. By that token you will soon wash out, Anteater, and the question of your graduation will be, if I may say so, academic."
Anteater! Dillingham recognized that voice now. His one-time room-mate had cheated on the University entrance exam, though he had hardly needed to. Now, evidently, he was leading a student revolt.
"Are you still there, Assistant?" Oyster inquired. "They have us locked up in an examination room, and we need reinforcements."
"Locked up! All your staff, too?"
"All that happened to be on the premises when they broke through. I'm here with Purplesplotch, K-9, Honeycomb and Lightbulb. I'm not sure you know them."
"I remember Honeycomb. He was one of my AAC interviewers. That was an unforgettable—"
"We demand a full-credit sabbatical term every two years," Anteater said.
"Sabbaticals! For
students?"
Oyster shouted back. "Our budget doesn't allow that for our instructors! If you don't disperse this instant, though, I guarantee you'll get a term at full-labour in the University clink! Did you fix the Jann?"
Dillingham realized with a start that the last sentence was for him, and marvelled at Oyster's aplomb in this cross-fire dialogue. "That's what I was calling about. The Jann is—"
"Hey! He's making an outside call!" another student cried. "The no-good sneak!"
"Now wait a minute," Dillingham began.
"That's
Earthman!"
Anteater said. "I know him. A turncoat. Schemed his way into Administration after he'd flunked the entrance exam. Blank him off!"
"Clam chowder!" Oyster swore before Dillingham could reply. A red light flickered on the translator chassis to signify the transmission of an obscenity. "Doctor, get back here as fast as you—"
"Oooo, what you said, Director!" Anteater chided gleefully. "Did you hear that, fellows? He said "poisoned termites"!"
"Melted ice-cream!" another student echoed wickedly. "Wash his mouth out!" Then the blah-blah of an interference signal over-rode the transmission and Dillingham could make out no more. He was on his own again.
He hardly had time to disconnect before the translator spoke again. "None but I..."
Oh, no!
"So you can tap into a spaceborne network too, Jann. You're pretty good for one who's been buried four thousand years."
"I have been keeping up with developments, primitive as they are, despite mine incapacity."
"That's how you knew my language, without a translator? You rifled my transcoder electronically before I ever bridged your tooth?"
"Even so."
"Then why don't you employ modern slang, instead of—"
"That would be out of character, mortal."
"It seems out of character to me to kill the one who tried to help you. Twice. But I'm not a Jann, so maybe I don't properly appreciate your mores."
"I shall await thee on Hazard."
Dillingham felt distinctly uncomfortable. Even his feeble irony was wasted on the metal man, and now—"You caught a faster ship?"
"I
am
a faster ship."
Worse and worse. The long-range problem had become short-range again. He had assumed that "levitation" was similar to the action of a floater, strictly dependent on adequate ambient gas—i.e., air. He had underestimated the robot.
He was tempted to ask the translator for advice, but realized that he could no longer trust it. Evidently his prior call had enabled the Jann to trace him, and now the robot would overhear anything he said. At worst, it might arrange to feed him false information, leading to the early fulfilment of the oath. He could not even converse with any crewman or other passengers, since translation would be necessary. He was boxed in, and would have to get out of it by himself. As usual.
But how? The Jann could track him whenever he used a translator or other communicator, and would be laying in wait for the ship at Hazard.
"With abilities such as yours, how did your kind lose the war?" Dillingham inquired. Since he could not hide from the giant, he might as well talk. There was always the chance that something useful would turn up, that would enable him to circumvent the murder-oath. A straw—but he had little else.
"I have pondered that very question for some centuries," the Jann admitted. "Unfortunately, we of the mineral kingdom are not original thinkers, so I was unable to come to any certain conclusion."