“Believe in us, Carl.” The same torrent of voices—but from up ahead. Out of the shadows rolled a second robot cube, identical to Raymo except that this one’s sides glowed with the number 287. I looked over my shoulder. Raymo, sparks spitting from its shattered image tank, had castered into the end of the hallway. Sandwiched. “We have your best interests at heart,” said Raymo.
I shouted: “Where are all the people?” Easy, Carl. Panic’s the last thing you need.
The voices came in stereo now, from robot 287 in front and Raymo in the rear. “The people are here, Carl. All around you.”
“There’s nobody here!” Keep calm—dammit—calm! “What the hell’s going on?”
Robot 287 was edging closer. I could hear the faint hum of Raymo moving in, as well. The voices surrounded me, soft, so very soft. “Join with us.” Lights began to coalesce in 287’s tank, all the colors of the starbow that had accompanied my ship on its long, lonely voyage. Swirling, dancing colors. I pivoted. Raymo was a dozen meters away, its tank dark and charred. I exploded down the corridor, legs pounding, pounding, pounding. I crouched low and leapt. Up, up, and over top of Raymo, my boot crashing through the jagged glass wall of the tank’s far side. I ran back into the starport’s lobby.
“Listen to us, Carl Hunt.” Voices, like those the robots had spoken with, but clearer, more resonant, coming from nowhere, coming from everywhere. I halted, spreads my hands. “What do you want from me?”
“We want…you. Join us!”
I found myself shouting. “Who are you?”
The beautiful woman sitting opposite Carl tried to sink down in the crushed-velour upholstery. “Sssh, Carl. You’re making a scene.”
Carl slammed his fist onto the restaurant table. Wine sloshed out of his glass. “Dammit, Wendy, don’t lie to me.”
“Professor Cayman and I spent the entire weekend digging for arrowheads. I’m his research assistant—not his playmate.”
“Then what were you doing sharing a tent with him?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” said the voices. I ran through the lobby, swinging my right hand up to rub sweat from my forehead. Blood splattered across my face. My hand was more seriously hurt than I’d thought. A bloody archipelago of splotches trailed behind me across the lobby floor.
The voices again: “We’re human, Hunt. A lot has happened since you left.” I burst through a double doorway into the deserted press gallery. “We are the TerraComp Web. We are the sum of humanity.” I ran past the tiered seating to the door at the other end. Locked. Breathing raggedly, I beat my hands against the mahogany, the injured one leaving a bloody mark each time it hit. “Think of it,” said all the voices. “By joining with the global computer system, humankind has achieved everything it could ever want.”
A woman’s voice separated from the vocal melee. “Unlimited knowledge! Any fact instantly available. Any question instantly answered.”
A man’s voice followed, deep and hearty. “Immortality! Each of us lives forever as a free-floating consciousness in the memory banks.”
And a child’s voice: “Freedom from hunger and pain!”
Then, in unison, plus a hundred more voices on top: “Join with us!”
I slumped to the floor, my back against the door. I tried to shout but the words came out as hoarse whispers. “Leave me alone.”
“We only want what’s best for you.”
“Go away, then! Just leave me the hell alone.”
The lights in the gallery began to slowly dim. I lay back, too tired to even look to my slashed hand. Another robot, different in structure, rolled up quietly next to me. It was a long flatbed with forklift arms and lenses on a darting gooseneck. It spoke in the same whispering multitude. “Join with us.”
I rallied some strength. “You’re… not… human—”
“Yes, we are. In every way that counts.”
“What… What about individuality?”
“There is no more loneliness. We are one.”
I shook my head. “A man has to be himself; make his own mistakes.”
“Individuality is childhood.” The robot edged closer. “Community is adulthood.”
With much effort, I managed to pull myself to my feet. “Can you love?”
“We have infinite intimacy. Each mind mingling—solute and solvent—into a collective consciousness. Join us!”
“And—sex?”
“We are immortal. There is no need.”
I pushed off the wall and hobbled back the way I’d come. “Count me out!” I fell through the doors into the lobby. There had to be a way outside.
I turned into a darkened hallway. Bracing against a wall, I caught my breath. Suddenly, I became aware of a faint phosphorescent glow at the other end of the hall. It was another information robot, like Raymo, with the number 28 on its sides. I held my arm out in front of my body. “Stay back, demon.”
“But you’re hurt, Carl.”
I looked at my mangled hand. “What’s that to you?”
“Asimov’s First Law of Robotics: ‘A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.’ ” As the voices spoke, the words materialized in glowing amber within 28’s tank. “If I do not tend to your hand, it may become infected. Indeed, if the bleeding is not stanched soon, you may suffer shock due to blood loss.”
“So you respond like a classical robot?” My tone grew sharp. “I order you not to come any closer.”
Twenty-eight continued to roll towards me. “Your health is my primary concern.”
I peeled open a Velcro fastener on my hip and removed a metallic wedge. The thick end was peppered with the holes of a speaker grille and a numeric keypad checkerboarded one major face. I held it up in front of me, as if to ward off the approaching robot. “This is a remote tie-in to my landing module’s onboard computer. If you come any closer, I will cause the landing module’s fusion motors to overload. You, me, and what’s left of the city of Toronto will go up in one giant ball of hellfire.”
The robot stopped. I could hear the pounding of my heart. I stared fiercely at 28. The robot’s crystalline eyes stared back. Stand-off. Five seconds. Ten. Fifteen.
The voices were plaintive: “I only wish to tend to your wounds.” The box-like automaton eased forward slightly.
I hit keys in rapid succession. “Back off!”
Carl rolled off Wendy and she slipped into his arms. “You know, ” he said, gently stroking the small of her back, “they’re going to announce who gets Starprobe 12 tomorrow. If it’s me, I’m going to go.”
Wendy stiffened ever so slightly. “Everybody you know will be dead when you get back. ”
“I know all that. ”
“And you still want to go?”
“More than anything.”
Wendy moved to kiss him. “You’re such a stubborn man.”
The robot came to another halt. “You’re such a stubborn man.”
I looked quickly to my left and right. “How do I get out of here?”
Silence.
I fingered the tie-in wedge again. “Answer me, damn you.”
“There are unlocked doors leading outside down the corridor on your left. But you must tend to your injury.”
I looked down at my hand, caked with dried blood. Thick liquid still welled from shredded knuckles. Damn. I nodded slowly. “Where can I get a first-aid kit?”
“I brought one for you,” said 28. A small slot opened in the base on which the robot’s image cube rested. A hinged plastic box with a red cross flexographed on its lid clacked to the tiled floor. A dull hum, almost a white noise, issued from 28’s twin speakers.