Mark Tiedemann - Chimera

"-forming you now-have backup-prepared. It's the same as it was, only different. A new canister. We are professionals. "

The robot turned toward the group. Someone was working his way forward and had come to a halt at the very edge of the half-circle.

A window appeared at the lower right corner of the screen, and a series of faces scrolled quickly by, matching text on the left. The words NO MATCH appeared in place of the faces. The robot moved toward the stranger.

("That's Coren," Palen said. "Who?" one of the TBI agents asked. "Later; " Palen said.)

"All right," Nyom said. "But if this turns out to be anything but copasetic, I'll peel your skin off with pliers. Tell your people we're ready."

Suddenly, Coren stepped forward, a half-smile on his face. The robot reached him at that point and gripped his right arm. Coren looked up angrily, but his expression changed quickly to fear.

"I apologize, sir, but I must ask that you come with me." The robot walked him back through the crowd of baleys, who looked frightened and angry themselves.

They emerged from the crowd and continued on to the next bay. The robot stopped. Coren gave it another nervous glance, then turned abruptly.

"Damnit, Coren!"

Coren smiled wanly. "Good to see you, too, Nyom."

She hissed through clenched teeth.

"Don't tell me you're surprised to see me," Coren said.

"I'm not. That's what bothers me."

Coren nodded toward the robot. "Umm…"

"Coffee, go see to our arrangements."

"Yes, Nyom," the robot said.

The robot-Coffee-released Coren and returned to the group of baleys. It worked its way through them. Some cringed from it, but most stood their ground with stolid expressions, afraid but unwilling to show it.

Coffee emerged from the huddled refugees just as the dockworker returned, followed by four individuals. The window appeared at the lower left again as Coffee attempted to find matches.

One of the four was another robot.

("Looks like a DM-70," Rana whispered. "But what's that?")

One of the four looked distinctly artificial, surface a smooth, dull gray, but it was far more humaniform than either of the other two robots. Coffee gave this one a close examination. The view zoomed in on its head. Human-imitation eyes peered back. It wore close-fitting black: shirt, pants, and soft boots, which seemed silly for a robot.

("Look at the way it moves," Derec said.)

"Everybody ready?" the dockworker called out. He turned to Coffee. "Where's your boss?"

"One moment."

Coffee made his way back to where Nyom and Coren stood talking. It stopped a short distance from them. "Nyom."

Coren started and Nyom laughed. She began to reach toward him. "Coffee won't hurt you. What is it, Coffee?"

"Time."

"I'll be right there."

Coffee returned once more to the group of baleys. "She is on her way, " it told the dockworker.

"All right," Nyom's voice snapped. "Let's get this boat sailing, shall we?" She stopped upon seeing the newcomers, frowning. "Who are these?"

"My dock crew," the first dockworker informed her. "It wasn't hard to get everybody else to go out for a drink, but I think they'd draw the line at longshoring an illicit bin and loading up a bunch of baleys, don't you think?"

Nervous laughter came from the group of baleys. Nyom nodded, her eyes on the strange robot.

"This way," the dockworker said, leading them through the open bay.

They passed through the huge doorway. The baleys stopped on the broad apron between the warehouse doors and the maze of tracks upon which cargo bins scurried en route to and from the shuttle fields of Petrabor port. One bin came almost directly at them, stopping abruptly on its magnetic rails less than five meters away. Its door folded down.

"Okay, folks," the dockworker said, clapping his hands. "Here's the drill. Inside you will find an array of bunks-acceleration couches-each one with a breather mask attached to a rebreather. There's enough air in the bin for the ride up to Kopernik and the transfer to the ship that'll take you on to Nova Levis, as long as you use the rebreather. One of my associates here will ride up with you and make sure you know how to use the masks and will stay as security till you make the transfer to the ship. Once aboard ship, you will be released from the bin and provided regular berths for the main leg of the voyage. Once you are secured in your couches, do not-I repeat, do not-get out of them. There isn't enough room for floating around, and you could injure yourselves. Any questions?"

He looked around. Coffee was paying attention mainly to the unusual robot.

Abruptly, that robot stepped forward, approached Coffee, and made a show of examining it. It moved with a sinuous fluidity that belied its artificial nature, making one slow circuit around Coffee and coming to a halt directly before it.

The skin seemed to ripple briefly. Suddenly, it looked to its left. As Coffee watched, the skin changed hue and texture, dappling and darkening.

"Nyom," Coffee said, "I recommend against this. We should abort and try another avenue."

"Why, Coffee?"

The strange robot regarded Coffee with an attitude of almost human curiosity, as if to say Yes, Coffee, why?

"I am unable to define my reasons, " Coffee said. "The situation has too many unexpected variables. For instance, I do not know what this is." Coffee aimed a digit at the robot before it.

"Come on, " the dockworker said, exasperated. "We don't have time for this shit! The crew will be back any minute-you take it or leave it. You drop this ride, your chances of getting another one go way down."

Nyom turned to her group. "It's up to you," she said. "Do we go?"

The refugees murmured among themselves briefly, then hands went up. "We go," most of them said.

Nyom frowned as she turned to the dockworker. "I repeat: anything goes wrong on this, I'll have parts of you as souvenirs. "

"What, you think we're going to ruin our reputation? Come on, we're professionals-we do this all the time. Now, can be get a move on?"

"Coffee," Nyom said, "you just pay close attention to everything. "

"Yes, Nyom."

The robot facing it spun gracefully and walked up the ramp, into the bin. The baleys filed in, one by one.

Nyom hung back, close to Coffee. "What's wrong, Coffee?"

"That robot-" Coffee began.

"The tally doesn't add up," the dockworker interrupted. He held up a pad. "I did a head count. We're missing one."

"I know," Nyom said. "It happens. Someone gets cold feet at the last minute; they don't show. Can't call it off on account of one or two who change their minds, can you?"

"No, I suppose not. But my people don't like it."

"I don't care what they don't like."

The dockworker shrugged. "So we have one extra couch. Everyone else showed, though?"

"Everyone else did." Nyom gestured. "Where'd you get that robot?"

"Gamelin? Didn't get him anywhere. He's part of the connection on the other end."

"He's…different."

"He is that. Well, you ready? Everyone else is on board."

Nyom nodded and walked up the ramp. Coffee followed.

Within, the light was dim, provided mainly by a single flash held by the robot, Gamelin, and the readylights on the hulking rebreather unit in the middle of the deck. Gamelin was helping people settle into the couches that were stacked to the ceiling, and answering questions in a quiet, raspy voice. Coffee began checking those already settled in.

The hatch came up, then, and Gamelin activated the internal seals. Coffee squatted by the control panel of the rebreather and began running a diagnostic.

"Don't you trust me?" Gamelin asked.

"What model are you?" Nyom asked. "I've never seen one like you. "

"You won't again," Gamelin said, turning toward her. "Better get into your couch. "