Michael Kube-McDowell - Odyssey

Monitor 5 answered. “I am following a highly conditional logic path proposed by Analyst 17-”

“So that’s why he’s really here.”

“-in which the uncertainty of your fate is modified by your own volitional acts to a positive value weighed against the high probability of harm due to inaction.”

“In other words, you talked yourself into it,” Derec said. “Well, you haven’t talked me into it. Your prime objective and your security don’t mean a thing to me. Do you think it’s important to me if you can’t destroy yourselves? I don’t care if that ship belongs to your worst enemy.

“In fact, I’m beginning to think that if they’re your enemy, that makes them my friend. I’m not going anywhere. And I’m sure as hell not going to go kill myself to get you off the hook.”

The robots were apparently not willing to let it go at that. When Derec left Level Zero, Analyst 17 followed. It took a different lift, and when they reached the warehouse level, it studiously trailed several steps behind him. But there was no question that he was under surveillance.

It did not make sense that immediately after asking him to escape, the robots would set a bloodhound to dog his heels. But since he had no intention of doing what the robots wanted, it hardly mattered if he understood. He could safely ignore his shadow.

The warehouse was still a hive of chaotic activity, and Derec retreated from it to the quiet of the E-cell. He thought Analyst 17 might content itself to watch and wait outside, since the cell had only one exit. But the robot came inside as well, and when Derec entered the wardroom, it followed him in and took a seat at the opposite end of the conference table.

At first, however, Derec barely noticed the robot’s entry. The video from a sky camera somewhere on the surface was being displayed on the com center screen. It showed a small, distant orange sun and a field of dim stars in which Derec saw no immediately recognizable patterns. A dark backlit hulk was moving across the star background, growing perceptibly larger as it closed on the asteroid. It was still too far away to show a distinctive profile, but it was clearly a massive spaceship of some kind.

“More propaganda?” Derec asked.

“The Analysts agreed that you have a right to know the source and current status of the threat.”

“Do you think I’m going to see that thing up there and panic? It won’t work. This isn’t much, but it’s home. I’m not leaving.”

The robot made no reply, and remained silent while Derec went to the autogalley and assembled a lunch. When he came back with it and sat down, he soon became painfully conscious of the robot patiently watching him.

“Whose side are you on, anyway?” Derec asked between mouthfuls.

“Clarify.”

“What are you doing here? I thought you wanted me to skip out. But I couldn’t make a move without you knowing about it.”

“Your conversation with Monitor 5 forced him into recognizing a First Law conflict.”

“You mean his little self-deception fell apart?”

“Monitor 5 is now deeply concerned that you may attempt to escape and harm yourself in the process or as a consequence. To relieve that potential and allow Monitor 5 to return to his duties, I offered to watch you.”

“What about you? Did I make your logic bomb blow up, too?”

“No.”

“So you’re not here to stop me,” Derec said, pushing his plate away. “You’re here to make sure no one else stops me.”

“Your observations are irrelevant to the situation. You have stated your intention to remain in our care.”

“Right.” Derec glanced up at the screen. The ship was still a dark shape without texture, but it now filled fully a third of the frame. “But I still think you expect me to start getting worried and make a move. Well, to show you just how worried I am, I’m going to go in the other room to take a nap,” Derec said, standing. “If you decide to come along, all I ask is that you pick out your own bunk. There isn’t room in mine for two.”

Analyst 17 did not follow, and Derec did not nap. He lay on his bunk and stared at the ceiling, trying to regain perspective.

The robots’ predicament was real and substantial. It was not only the matter of being frustrated in their attempt to fulfill their Second Law obligations to their master. They were tiptoeing along the edge of a First Law chasm, a paradox capable of paralyzing not only individual robots, but the entire community. He was their first obligation, and yet there was nothing they could do for him but beg him to save himself.

If it were not so serious, it would be laughable. It was as though a person suffering from hiccups had asked a friend, “Please surprise me.” How could he catch the robots off guard, even with Analyst 17’s collaboration?

On top of which, the whole idea of escaping was absurd. Without help from the robots, he couldn’t possibly reassemble the pod before the ship arrived. And even if he could, there was no way it could run from the approaching ship.

If he continued to think of both the robots and the strangers as enemies, there were no solutions to the equation. Only by assuming that the strangers were coming to help him, or would be willing to help him even if they had other purposes there, could he envision a way out. He could wait until the ship was in orbit, then go to the surface in an augment and radio to them for help.

Just then the bunk shuddered under him, and he sat bolt upright. He thought for a moment that he hadn’t felt it, or experienced the sudden start which sometimes comes just before dozing off. But then another tremor shook the room, and he could no longer think it was an illusion. He jumped to his feet and ran across to the wardroom.

Analyst 17 was still sitting there as Derec had left him. “What’s happening?” Derec demanded.

“We are under attack,” the robot said, gesturing toward the com center.

Derec stared at the screen. The ship had tacked to a position where half of its sunward side was visible, allowing Derec to see details for the first time. What he saw confused him. The ship seemed to have been not designed, but collected. It looked more like a space junkyard than a dangerous raider. But raider it was.

Just in the part Derec could see clearly, there were eleven distinct hulls, as well as a tangled matrix of connecting structures. There were ships old enough to be in a museum and others new enough to be a shipwright’s showpiece. Sleek transatmospheric profiles nestled against the cylinders and grips of deep-space haulers. All across the mass of the ship, small red and orange lights were blinking on and off.

“Who are they?” Derec whispered.

“Unknown.”

“Well, didn’t they hail us? What do they want?”

“There was no signal on any frequency commonly used for communication.”

Derec felt another vibration through the floor. “What kind of weapons are they using?”

“The ship’s armament appears to consist primarily of phased microwave lasers.”

“And what do we have to fight back?”

“The community has no weapons.”

“What?” Derec demanded.

The robot’s answer was patient and calm. “It is highly probable that the ship contains humans. We would not be permitted to use weapons against them.”

Derec stared at the robot, then at the screen. Unlike in careless fictions, there were no stabbing beams of brilliant light to betray the energies pouring down from the radar ship. There were only the winking lights, and the ground moving under Derec’s feet. “Are we in danger?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“The ship began its attack in the area of our only permanent surface installation, the antenna farm located 170 degrees east of the primary shaft-”