Mark Tiedemann: Mirage

"Bogard, what's happening?"

"I still cannot access the Resident Intelligence. I have no explanation."

Bogard started again, skirting the edge of the scene. Abruptly, two robots broke away from the fight and blocked its way.

"Halt," one demanded. "Stand and declare-"

In a single, fluid motion, Bogard brushed one robot into its companion and hurled them back into the dance. Mia saw several others move deftly to avoid them as they clattered across the floor.

At the next junction, Bogard hesitated again.

"They have divided," it said. "One went that direction" it indicated a twisting path through a canyon of machine housings to the left "-two went this way." The right-hand trail led down a short flight of stairs to another service corridor. "Just a moment. I have com traffic which I presume is between our targets."

"Let me hear."

The receiver in her ear snapped sharply to life.

"-lost in the service section. We don't have an egress."

"Your orders were to stay off com until outside the facility."

"Fine, but we can't get outside the damn facility if we can't find a way out!"

"Stand by."

A few seconds later, a new voice came on.

"This is Platoon One. What's the problem?"

"Platoon One, this is Lemus. We got separated from the main body, we're in the service section-no egress. We lost Wollins, and the tinheads are dancing like crazies back here"

"You stay off com from this point," Platoon One ordered. "You find a corridor marked 'EXD' and follow it without deviation. Do you copy?"

"Sure, Bok-"

"And stop using names on the com. No further communications will be accepted until we link up. Platoon One out."

The receiver went dead.

Bok? Lemus?

Mia indicated the service corridor. "Bogard, find them. Apprehend and subdue. Can you locate that corridor?"

"Yes." It took only a moment for Bogard to weigh the command against its First Law imperative. "You will go after the remaining target?"

"I will. I will exercise extreme caution. We want them alive, Bogard."

"You risk injury."

"Personal prerogative, acceptable level of risk. They are dangerous." personal prerogative, acceptable level of risk, they are dangerous, assignation of priority levels to establish response protocols as follows: assertion of personal prerogative indicates acceptance of possible harm in lieu of protections necessitated per First and Second Law parameters, access file Daventri, Mia, level of competence involving personal risk, assign acceptability algorithms to assess potential for failure under circumstances where injury is likely, experiential indicators sufficient, acceptable level of risk within personal prerogative parameters, alleviation of immediate requirements, applied against level of danger indicated by permitting target to escape, indicate accurate assessment of potentials, First and Second Law requirements shift locus then to hypothetical threats posed by failure to accept revised protocols, necessitate risk accommodation, temporary and contingent upon verification of status, Daventri Mia Mia waited less than a second for Bogard to prioritize the instruction.

"I understand," it said. "You will indicate changed risk status."

"Yes."

It flowed down the stairs, into the service corridor, and disappeared.

Mia sighed, relieved. Bogard processed situations according to a complex set of risk protocols that allowed it to function more creatively than its more rigidly structured cousins, but she still expected it to be a Three Law purist when it had to allow a human to take a personal risk. This time it had to be assured that if she got into trouble she would call for help.

Pulse beating insistently in her ears, she entered the claustrophobic pathway. If these three had split up, then everything was not going as smoothly as they had probably planned.

The passage seemed to be a space between large ventilator funnels and bundles of communication threads-part of the ubiquitous Resident Intelligence system which supposedly oversaw all aspects of facility operation-and the bulkier conveyor system that transported all nonliving material throughout the complex.

She passed a skinny opening that led into the wider main passage, then came to a cluster of machine forms-spheres, boxes, conduit, braces-impossible to slip through. She backed up to the opening and eased through.

Across from her, the kitchen that served the entire complex ran the width of the space, from the wall of the main gallery to the outer shell. Bright, mirrored surfaces reflected color coding and the geometries of cookery, a fully automated food processing plant with only a few robots to supervise and troubleshoot the occasional problem. At the moment, nothing within the kitchen area moved. Mia spotted a robot, frozen in place before a flickering monitor.

In there…

She sprinted across the floor and dropped to one knee by the low wall that marked the kitchen's boundary. If the Resident Intelligence were functioning, she could have used it to track her target. But the com in her ear remained silent, a thick empty nonsound.

Mia glanced over the top of the wall, then scurried to the nearest access and around the edge. The air smelled of yeast and oil and warm flour. She crept along to the robot she had seen and looked up at the monitor it stared into.

Manifests scrolled over it, one after another, too fast for her to read, but she caught references to food stuffs, medical supplies, and clothing, in enormous quantities. As she watched, the monitor went blank. Then the bright green words PLEASE WAIT appeared and a few seconds later, a request form for several lunch items filled the screen. The robot seemed to waver, then stepped back.

"-report now! We have people down!" broke in her ear. Mia winced, startled.

"This is a restricted area," the robot said, turning to face her. "Humans are not-"

A burst of gunfire ricochetted around them, staggering the robot. Mia spun away, but her right arm suddenly snapped back, taking her with it, knocking her to the floor. Two more impacts caught her in the right leg and ribs; the wind left her lungs painfully.

Is this when I should call for help…? She dragged herself across the floor with her uninjured arm till she came to a space beneath a food preparation table, and pulled herself under the metal expanse.

She touched her earpiece and reduced the volume of her link. She heard feet running toward her.

"Sir, this is a restricted area-" another drone began to say.

Mia craned her head and saw the base of a small transport drone. Then booted, human feet. The drone shifted to block the human and repeated its message.

Mia still held her pistol, limply, and managed to shift it to her left hand. She pushed herself close to the edge of the crawlspace, next to one of the support legs. She set the pistol down and took hold of the metal shaft.

"Back away!" the human ordered the drone.

The human bolted around the robot and started forward. Mia braced, then swung her legs out from beneath her cover. She caught him across the shins and he tumbled, arms spread wide, and slapped the floor.

She snatched her pistol and wriggled out, coming up on her knees, weapon leveled. Her right leg burned hideously, the muscle trembling. Black pinpoints seemed to pulse at the periphery of her vision.

The man also recovered, turning toward her with a short, black weapon cradled in both hands.

"Stop!" she shouted.

He brought his weapon up.

Mia fired. The bolt of energy smacked against his head, kicking him backward. His weapon rattled across the floor.

Mia slumped against the cabinet, her right arm a length of agony, each breath like the pinch of giant fingers. She felt clammy, and the bright black and silver pinpoints danced more frantically, growing in number.