Robert Sheckley - Carhunters of the Concrete Prairie

THE SPACESHIP WAS GOING WONKY AGAIN. THERE COULD BE NO doubt about it.

The circuits weren’t clicking along smoothly as they usually did. Instead they were clacking, and that was a sure sign of trouble. Hellman had expected to come out of channel space into Area 12XB in the Orion cluster. But something had gone wrong. Could he have entered the directions improperly? If so, there was not much time in which to do anything about it. He had materialized in a yellowish sort of cloud and he could feel the ship dropping rapidly. He shouted at the ship’s computer, “Do something!”

“I’m trying, aren’t I?” the computer retorted. “But something’s wrong, there’s a glitch—”

“Correct it!” Hellman shouted.

“When?” the computer asked. Computers have no sense of peril. They were dropping through this cloud at a speed much faster than is healthy when you suspect there’s solid ground down below, and here was the computer asking him when.

“Now!” Hellman screamed.

“Right,” said the computer. And then they hit.

Hellman recovered consciousness some hours later to find that it was raining. It was nice to be out in the rain after so much time spent in a stuffy spaceship. Hellman opened his eyes in order to look up at the sky and see the rain falling.

There was no rain. There wasn’t any sky, either. He was still inside his spaceship. What he had thought was rain was water from the washbasin. It was being blown at him by one of the ship’s fans, which was going at a rate unsafe for fans even with eternite bearings.

“Stop that,” Hellman said crossly.

The fan died down to a hum. The ship’s computer said, over its loudspeaker, “Are you all right?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Hellman said, getting to his feet a little unsteadily. “Why were you spraying me with water?”

“To bring you back to consciousness. I have no arms or extensors at my command so that was the best I could do. If you’d only rig me up an arm, or even a tentacle....”

“Yes, I’ve heard your views on that subject,” Hellman said. “But the law is clear. Intelligent

machines of Level Seven or better capability cannot be given extensions.”

“It’s a silly law,” the computer said. “What do they think we’ll do? Go berserk or something?

Machines are much more reliable than people. “

“It’s been the law ever since the Desdemona disaster. Where are we?”

The computer reeled off a list of coordinates.

“Fine. That tells me nothing. Does this planet have a name?”

“If so, I am not aware of it,” the computer said. “It is not listed on our channel space guide. My feeling is that you input some of the information erroneously and that we are in a previously unexplored spatial area.”

“You are supposed to check for erroneous entry.”

“Only if you checked the Erroneous Check Program. “

“I did!”

“You didn’t. “

“I thought it was supposed to go on automatically.”

“If you consult page 1998 of the manual you will learn otherwise.”

“Now is a hell of a time to tell me.”

You were specifically told in the preliminary instructions. I’m sure you remember the little red pamphlet? On its cover it said, ‘READ THIS FIRST!’ “

“I don’t remember any such book,” Hellman said.

“They are required by law to give a copy to everyone buying a used spaceship.”

“Well, they forgot to give me one.” There was a loud humming sound.

Hellman said, “What are you doing?”

“Scanning my files,” the computer said.

“Why?”

“In order to tell you that the red pamphlet is still attached to the accelerator manifold coupling on the front of the instrument panel as required.”

“I thought that was the guarantee.”

“You were wrong. “

“Just shut up!” Hellman shouted, suddenly furious. He was in enough trouble without having his computer—man’s servant—giving him lip. Hellman got up and paced around indecisively for a moment.

The cabin of his spaceship looked all right. A few things had been tumbled around, but it didn’t look too bad.

“Can we take off again?” Hellman asked the computer.

The computer made file-riffling noises. “Not in our present condition. “

“Can you fix what’s wrong?”

“That question is not quantifiable,” the computer said. “It depends upon finding about three liters of red plasma type two. “

“What’s that?”

“It’s what the computer runs on.”

“Like gasoline?”

“Not exactly,” the computer said. “It is actually a psycholubricant needed by the inferential circuits to plot their probabilistic courses.”

“Couldn’t we do without it?”

“In order to do what?”

“To fly out of here!” Hellman exploded. “ Are you getting dense or something?”

“There are too many hidden assumptions in your speech,” the computer said.

“Go to ramble mode,” Hellman said.

“I hate the inexactness of it. Why don’t you let me tell you exactly what is wrong and how it could be fixed.”

“Ramble mode,” Hellman commanded again.

“All right. “ The robot sighed. “You want to get back in your spaceship and get out of here. You want me to fix things up so that you can get out of here. But as you know, I am under the law of robotics which says that I may not, either wittingly or unwittingly, harm you. “

“Getting me out of here won’t harm me,” Hellman said.

“You rented this spaceship and went out into space seeking your fortune, is that not correct?”

“Yeah, so what?”

“A fortune is sitting right here waiting for you and all you can think is how to get away from it as quickly as possible.”

“What fortune? What are you talking about?”

“First of all, you haven’t checked the environment readings, even though I have put them up on the screen for you. You will have already noticed that we are at approximately Earth pressure. The readings further tell us that this is an oxygen-rich planet and as such could be valuable for Earth colonization. That is the first possibility of wealth that you have overlooked.”

“Tell me the second one.”

Unless I miss my guess,” the computer said, “this planet may yield an answer to the Desdemona disaster. You know as well as I that there is a fortune in rewards for whoever discovers the whereabouts of the conspirators.”

“You think the Desdemona robots could have come here?”

“Precisely.”

“But why do you think that?”

“Because I have scanned the horizon in all directions and have found no less than three loci of mechanical life, each moving independently of each other and without, as far as I can detect, a human operator involved.”

Hellman went to the nearest perplex port. Looking out he could see a flat featureless prairie stretching onward monotonously for as far as he could see. Nothing moved on it.

“There’s nothing there,” he told the computer.

“Your senses aren’t sufficiently acute. I assure you, they are there.”

“Robots, huh?”

“They fit the definition.”.

“And you think they could be from the Desdemona?”

“The evidence pointing that way is persuasive. What other intelligent robots are unaccounted for?”

Hellman considered for a moment. “This might be a suitable place for Earth colonization and the answer to the Desdemona mystery. “

“The thought had not escaped my attention. “

“Is the air out there breathable?”

“Yes. I find no bacterial complications, either. You’ll probably leave some if you go out there.”