Michael Kube-McDowell - Odyssey

With surprising vehemence, Wolruf ruled out killing the Erani. Derec did not much regret it. He could not picture himself walking up to Aranimas with a club and battering him to death. But at the same time, as long as Aranimas was alive he was dangerous.

Derec first proposed a stunner, made from a recharged microcell and a few bits of wire. But there was no way to be sure that Aranimas was vulnerable to electric shocks, or to assure that the high-voltage current wouldn’t kill him.

“The chamber with the star-creatures,” Derec said abruptly. “When we passed through it, Aranimas’s eyes started to water. Do you know why? Those things are from your world. Is there something in the air there that’s not in the rest of the ship?”

“Yes,” Wolruf said. “The yellow-gas. That iss the only part of the ship wherr it iss used. The star-creatures release yellow-gas when they move.”

That would account for it, Derec thought. A digestive by-product, or some sort of chemical communication-”So the air in there is like the atmosphere of your world?”

“Yes.”

“Which means that the Erani probably can’t spend any time on your world without getting sick,” Derec concluded.

“We arr protected from the Erani temper,” Wolruf agreed.

Derec paused and considered. “You said the star-creatures were part of an experiment. Could Aranimas be trying to find a way to neutralize the gas, so that the Erani can invade?”

“It iss possible.”

“Are there samples, bottled up?”

“There is a liquid that turns to yellow-gas when freed.”

“Perfect. Get me some.”

When Derec turned in that night, he was a bundle of restless energy, and sleep did not come easily. When it finally did come, it seemed as though he closed his eyes one moment and the next someone was shaking him. He looked up to see Wolruf standing over him.

“Aranimas wants ‘u,” Wolruf said.

“Is it the robot?”

“New servant won’t listen to the boss anymore,” Wolruf said. “It just sits there.”

“This could be it, then,” Derec said, scrambling to his feet. “I’ll get my tools.”

As Derec followed Wolruf through the passageways, his anticipation and anxiety both spiraled upward. When they reached the hex junction, he stopped and caught the caninoid’s arm. “Does he expect you to come in?”

“No. Only to deliver ‘u. But I could come in and see if he sends me away-”

“No,” Derec said. “Don’t do anything out of the ordinary. I can handle the first part myself. Just wait here.”

Inside Hull A, Derec spotted Aranimas across the main compartment and picked his way around the mesh bulkheads to where the alien waited.

“The robot has malfunctioned,” Aranimas said, gesturing, “Repair it.”

The robot sat on the edge of a low counter, motionless except for his left hand, rotating slowly and aimlessly at the wrist joint. Code 3033-our location! Derec thought.

“What did you do to it?” Derec demanded, moving within arm’s reach of the robot.

“I did nothing. The mechanism ceased to obey me.”

“You must have done something.” Derec bent at the waist to peer directly into the glowing eyes. “Alpha. Acknowledge.”

“Yess, ssir,” the robot said, its words slurred and distorted.

Code 804! The key! But he had to be sure. “Alpha. Default l-A-l-B. Execute.”

The robot sat inert.

“Alpha. Default 2-C-2-D. Execute.”

Still there was no response.

“What’s wrong with my servant?” Aranimas demanded.

Stalling for time, Derec opened his small tool clutch and then the robot’s left shoulder access plate. As he peered inside, he thought the next step through. The reworking he had done on the robot’s instinct to protect intelligent life was a delicate business. It had already been stressed unexpectedly when Aranimas took possession of the robot.

If he were to release the robot from its instruction block and order it to move against Aranimas, that would create a Second Law obligation to break the First Law. His careful adjustments might come apart under the stress, and the robot would freeze up in a way Derec would not be able to repair.

He did not want to take that risk. It was much more straightforward for the robot to act in obedience to the First Law than in defiance of it. But that meant it was necessary to provoke Aranimas into an attack.

“It looks like a failure of the volitional initiator,” Derec double talked. “If two contradictory impulses reach it on the same pulse, it can set up a standing wave in the oscillator. It’s almost always the owner’s fault. What did you ask it to do?”

“I did nothing wrong, I was explaining the functions of the equipment in this section when its hand began to twirl foolishly that way.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Derec said. “I should have known that a race as backward as yours couldn’t cope with sophisticated machinery-”

“You are worse than the Narwe,” Aranimas snarled. “You do not have the good sense to know when you are in the service of a true superior.” As he spoke, his hand moved toward the gap in his robelike blouse.

“Aurora!” Derec shouted.

But the robot had begun to move even before Derec uttered the word, the First Law overcoming the strictures of the instruction block. The race between Aranimas’s reflexes and the robot’s was no contest. Before the stylus had even cleared the folds of Aranimas’s robe, the robot had grabbed the alien’s wrist with its right hand and plucked the stylus from his grasp with its left.

“Release me!” Aranimas squalled shrilly. He squirmed and fought, but could not free himself from the grip of the single mechanical hand.

“I cannot allow you to harm Derec,” the robot said.

“You are my servant. Obey my orders! Release me!”

“No, Aranimas,” Derec said, stepping forward. “Alpha is my servant, and always was.” Then he called back over his shoulder, “Wolruf! You can come in now!”

Retrieving the stylus from the floor, Derec turned it over in his hand. There were no obvious switches or controls on it. Holding it the way Aranimas had, Derec pointed it at the alien. Aranimas remained unaffected.

“My own weapons cannot be used against me,” Aranimas said with stiff pride.

“A very clever management technique,” Derec said. He reached into the tool clutch and retrieved the little toy he had made earlier that day. Attached to a small pressure bottle half full of mustard-yellow liquid was a miniature pump salvaged from the disabled robot. “But I have my own weapon.”

As Wolruf joined him, Derec pointed the pump’s outlet valve at Aranimas and pressed the switch. A fine mist blasted from the tiny opening and caught the alien in the face.

A human would have gasped in surprise. Aranimas lunged for the aerosol with his freehand and nearly got it, his arm span being almost equal to the makeshift device’s range.

But a moment later, a reddish liquid began streaming from Aranimas’s eyes, and the skin of his face seemed to pucker. He went rigid and reached high in the air with his free hand, the fingers curling as though grasping for something, the ropelike muscles of his arm and shoulder visible under the skin for the first time. As the aerosol began to sputter, the alien’s eyes closed, and his arm dropped limply to his side.

“Release him,” Derec said, thumbing the switch. The robot’s hand opened, and the alien crumpled to the deck and lay there motionless.

“I-detect-no respiration,” the robot said haltingly.

The robot’s speech impediment was a warning sign to Derec. I should have warned it what was going to happen, he realized belatedly. “He’s not dead,” Derec said. “His system has received a poison shock, but he will recover.”