Robot Adept (6 page)

“As you wish, Bane.”

They went out to play another game, and another, and another, the victories and the losses immaterial, only the experience being important. So it continued for several days, with physical, mental and chance games of every type. They raced each other in sailcraft, they played Chinese checkers, they bluffed each other with poker, they battled with punnish riddles. Some times they cheated, indulging in one game while nominally playing another, as when they made love while theoretically wrestling in gelatin. Whatever else they did, they lived their joint life to the fullest extent they could manage, trying to cram decades into days.
 
They found themselves in machine-assisted art: playing parts in a randomly selected play whose other parts were played by programmed robots. Each of them was cued continuously on lines and action, so that there was no problem of memorization or practice. It was their challenge to interpret their parts well, with the Game Computer ready to rate their performance at the end.
 
They had specified a play involving male-female relations, of a romantic nature, with difficulties, and the computer had made a selection from among the many thousands in its repertoire.

Thus they were acting in one by George Bernard Shaw titled You Never Can Tell, dating from the nineteenth century of Earth. Bane was VALENTINE and Agape was GLORIA CLANDON. They were well into the scene.

“Oh, Miss Clandon, Miss Clandon: how could you?” he demanded.

“What have I done?” she asked, startled.
 

“Thrown this enchantment on me ...” And as he spoke the scripted lines, he realized that it was true: she had enchanted him, though she had not intended to.

“I hope you are not going to be so foolish—so vulgar—as to say love,” she responded with uncertain feeling. According to the play, she had no special feeling for him, but in reality she did; this was getting difficult for her.

“No, no, no, no, no. Not love; we know better than that,” he said earnestly. “Let’s call it chemistry ...” And wasn’t this also true? What was love, really? But as he spoke, he became aware of something that should have been irrelevant. They had an audience.
 

“Nonsense!” she exclaimed with more certainty.

They had not had an audience when they started.

Several serfs had entered the chamber and taken seats.
 
Why? This was a private game, of little interest to any one else. “. . . you’re a prig: a feminine prig: that’s what you are,” he said, enjoying the line. “Now I suppose you’ve done with me forever.”

“... I have many faults,” she said primly. “Very serious faults—of character and temper; but if there is one thing that I am not, it is what you call a prig.” She gazed challengingly at him.

“Oh, yes, you are. My reason tells me so: my experience tells me so.” And his reason and experience told him that something was wrong: there should be no audience.

“... your knowledge and your experience are not infallible,” she was saying, handling her lines with in creasing verve. “At least I hope not.”

“I must believe them,” he said, wishing he could warn her about the audience without interfering with the set lines. “Unless you wish me to believe my eyes, my heart, my instincts, my imagination, which are all telling me the most monstrous lies about you.”

“Lies!”

Yet more serfs were entering the audience chamber.

Were they players waiting for their turn? “Yes, lies.” He sat down beside her, as the script dictated, but wasn’t sure he did it convincingly. “Do you expect me to believe that you are the most beautiful woman in the world?”

Now she was evidently feeling the relevance! “That is ridiculous, and rather personal.”

“Of course it’s ridiculous ...” His developing paranoia about the audience was, too! He wished they could just quit the play here, and get away; he didn’t trust this at all. But as they exchanged their lines, his apprehension increased. Suppose the Contrary Citizens had managed to divert Blue’s minions, so that there was no protection for the moment?

“And I’m a feminine prig,” she was saying.
 

“No, no: I can’t face that: I must have one illusion left: the illusion about you. I love you.”

She rose, as the cue dictated, and turned. Then she spied the audience. She almost lost her place. “I am sorry. I—“ Now she did lose it, and barely recovered.
 
“What can I say?”

What, indeed? Now it seemed sure: the Citizens were about to make their move. But how could he get away from here with Agape, without setting off the trap?
 
They needed a natural exit, to get offstage, out of sight.

“... I can’t tell you—“ he was saying.

“Oh, stop telling me how you feel: I can’t bear it.”

And he saw that the scene was coming to a close.
 
Here was their chance! “Ah, it’s come at last: my moment of courage.” He seized her hands, according to the script, and she looked at him in simulated terror, also scripted. But their emotions were becoming real, for a different reason. “Our moment of courage!” He drew her in to him and kissed her. “Now you’ve done it, Agape. It’s all over: we’re in love with one another.” Oops—he had used her real name, not her play name! But he couldn’t change it now. It was time for his exit.

“Goodbye. Forgive me,” he said, and kissed her hands, and retreated.

But now the men of the audience were advancing on the stage. Bane ran back, grabbed her arm, and hauled her along with him offstage.

“It is happening!” she exclaimed as they ran for a rear exit.

“I think so. We must get back to the main complex, where Citizen Blue is watching.” For this particular chamber was outside the region of the Experimental Project of humans, robots, androids, cyborgs and aliens living in harmony. Most facilities were set within it, but when particular ones were crowded, the Game Computer assigned players to the nearest outside ones. Thus it seemed that Bane and Agape had inadvertently strayed beyond the scope of Citizen Blue’s protection, and the Contrary Citizens had seized the moment.
 
There were serfs in the hall outside. They spotted Bane and Agape and moved purposefully toward them.
 
They retreated back into the play complex. But they could hear the serfs in pursuit here too, coming through the stage region.

“The service apertures,” Agape said.

“Go there!” Bane obeyed. Maybe there would be an escape route there.

There was not. The service door led only into a chamber in which an assortment of maintenance machines were parked.

“We be lost!” Bane exclaimed.

“Maybe not!” She hurried to a communications panel, activated it, and tapped against it with a measured cadence.

“Approach the cyborg brusher,” the speaker said.

The lid lifted on the top of a huge cleaning machine.
 
“Come, Bane!” she said, running toward the device.

“What—?”

“The self-willed machines are helping us! Trust them!”

Bemused, he followed her. “Remove the brain unit,” the speaker said.

There was a pounding on the door. Evidently it had locked behind them, barring access by the serfs. That could not last long, for all doors had manual overrides.
 
Bane saw that there was a complicated apparatus just below the lid, with wiring and tubing and plastic encased substance that looked alive. He took hold of the handles at either side and lifted. He had to exert his robotic strength, for the unit was heavy, but it came up and out.

“Set it here,” the speaker said. A panel slid aside, revealing a chamber set in the wall.

He carried the brain unit across and shoved it into the chamber. The panel slid shut. Evidently this was a servicing facility for the living cyborg brain.
 
“Stand for dismantling,” the speaker said. Another machine rolled toward him.

Bane hesitated. Then he heard an ominous silence at the door. They were setting up for the override! He stood for dismantling.

Quickly, efficiently, and painlessly the machine removed his arms, legs and head. It carried these to the big cyborg husk and installed them in the bowels of it.
 
Then it stashed his torso in a refuse chamber in its base.
 
Finally it separated his head into several parts, and his perceptions became scattered. The chamber seemed to wave crazily as one of his eyes was carried across and set into a perceptor extension. He had no idea how it was possible for him to see while his eyes were disconnected from his head, or to remain conscious while his head was apart from his body, but evidently it was. The machines of Proton had strong magic!

Meanwhile, Agape was doing something; he heard fragments of the instructions to her. It seemed she was required to melt into a new brain-container that was being set into the machine.

All this occurred extremely rapidly. In less than a minute the two of them had been installed into the cyborg. His accurate robot time sense told him it was so, despite the subjective human impression.
 
The entrance to the chamber opened. Bane saw this with his two widely separated eyes, and heard it with his buried ears. Six serfs charged in.

“Search this room!” one directed the others. “They have to be in here!”

They spread out and searched, but could not find the fugitives. They did find a panel that concealed a service tunnel leading to another drama complex. “Check that complex!” the leader snapped. “They must have crawled through.”

Four men hurried out. But the leader was too canny to dismiss this chamber yet. “Check these machines, too,” he snapped. “Some of them are big enough to hold a body.”

They checked, opening each machine and poking in side. They checked the cyborg, and found only its brain unit and operative attachments. At length, frustrated, they departed.

DO NOT REACT. Bane saw these words appear briefly on a wall panel, and realized they were for him.
 
The hunt remained on; this could be a trap.
 
After a few minutes the speaker said: “Cleaners ten, twelve and nineteen to the adjacent drama chamber for cleanup.”

“We are nineteen,” Agape’s voice came faintly to him. “I will direct you; you must operate the extremities.”

So they were now a true cyborg: a living brain and a mechanical body! Bane discovered that when he tried to walk, his legs were wheels. He started a little jerkily, but soon got the hang of it, and propelled them after the other contraptions toward the door.
 
Outside the serfs were waiting. Obviously they expected Bane and Agape to walk out, thinking that they were safe.

He took them around and into the drama suite the two of them had vacated. “Brush the floor,” Agape said.

Bane tried to reach with an arm—and extruded an appendage whose terminus was a roller brush. He lowered this to the floor and twitched his fingers. The brush spun. He started brushing the floor.

DO NOT REACT, a panel flashed.

Then a serf wearing the emblem of Citizen Blue entered. “Good thing I got here in time!” he exclaimed.
 
“They had us blocked off. Come on; we’re going home.”

Bane continued brushing.

“Hey, you’re safe now!” the man said. “At least, you will be when we get you to the Citizen’s territory. Come on!”

Bane ignored him, playing the dumb machine.

Disgruntled, the serf departed.

They continued brushing the floor. In due course the job was done. The two other machines had cleaned off the chairs and dusted the walls. “Return to storage,” the speaker said. They returned to the storage chamber.
 
There they parked and waited for another hour. What was going on? Obviously the self-willed machines were protecting them, but could the chase still be on? Where was Citizen Blue?

The panel flashed. REACT.

Then Citizen Blue walked in, followed by Sheen, his wife. “Is this chamber secure?” Blue asked.
 

“Yes, Citizen,” the speaker replied.

“I owe you.”

“No. Your activities benefit our kind.” Blue faced the cyborg brusher. “Are you in good condition?”

Now at last Bane felt free to answer; Blue was evidently legitimate. “Yes,” he said through his mouth speaker, which was now set near the top of the apparatus.

“This is a respite, not the end. You will assume our likenesses. Keep alert.”

Then the dismantling unit approached, and reversed the prior procedure. It extracted Bane’s arms, legs, torso and head and assembled them, so that soon he was back to his original condition. Agape was removed from the brain chamber, as a mound of jellylike flesh, and she stretched out and up and became herself in human form.

“You will assume our forms,” Blue said. “We shall not be challenged in the halls, but you would be.” Agape began to change again, orienting on Sheen.
 

“No,” Blue said. “Emulate me. The sensors can distinguish between flesh and machine.”

“But I am alien,” she protested. “They will know I am not human. I can emulate only an android, if they test.”

“They distinguish human from android by finger prints,” Blue said. “The self-willed machines will give you my prints.”