"I understand the metaphor."
Carl jumped. "Holy hell, is that a portal?"
"That's our back door." I laughed.
But it wasn't your average portal array. Bruce displayed the cylinder count: 216 of them, arranged in haphazard patterns, shot through with odd twistings of road. It looked like a connect-the-dots puzzle that an eight-eyed alien had given up an. Four major highways, converging from the points of the compass, fed into the spaghetti like mess of roads at the middle.
"This is interesting," I said. "There's almost no end to the various ways you could weave in and through there. Might mean that from here you could go almost anywhere in the Skyway system."
"But how do you know which way to zig and zag?" Lori asked, peering over my shoulder.
"Very simple," Bruce said.
"I'll bet," I scoffed. Then I shrugged. "Really?"
"Yes, Jake. Each section of the master map is numbered in binary. There is a table provided. Look-this is just a portion of it. Now, as you see, this is basically a hexadecimal core of a multidimensional, multivariable table, in which each.cylinder is given a number. Passages through and among various cylinders are given in a number sequence con gsponding to the cylinders involved. These sequences in turn correspond to the map section numbers. Now, as you can see, this is a very complex array, and processing could be hampered by core storage limitations, but by batching separate passes and by converting the data to a packed-decimal format in working storage, it should be possible to-"
"Wait a minute," I said. I couldn't make anything out of the flurry of numbers on the screen. "Are you saying that if I gave you x section of Skyway as a destination, you could tell me what combination of cylinders to shoot in order to make the jump there?"
"Yes, Jake, that is what I am saying. It would merely be a table lookup function."
I sat back and whistled. "Then that `way home' you spent two hours charting-that wasn't a way home at all. That was the way we came."
"Yes, I'm afraid so," Bruce said. "One could take that route, of course, but the transit time back to Ten-an Maze would be, assuming conventional speed averages and taking into account rest and maintenance stops, something on the order of thirty thousand Standard Years."
10
"The long way home," I said.
"Indeed," Bruce said calmly. "However, as I have said, we have a much more efficient route at our disposal."
"If we can shoot that portal without getting smeared. Looks pretty tricky."
"It may require computer-assisted driving, if not complete computer control."
I sat back and sighed. "No one needs us humans anymore. Think you can handle it, Bruce?"
"I am not sure. I am not a machine chauvinist. The task may very well call for the sort of hand-eye coordination and intuitive timing that only human beings possess."
I smiled. "Well, thank you, Bruce. Are you just saying that because you're programmed to avoid bruising our poor little egos, or do you really feel that way?"
"I'm sorry, Jake. That question is a little ambiguous, and would be very difficult to answer."
"Probably right. Okay, Bruce, you did a very good job."
"Thank you, Jake. It has been a pleasure working with you."
I turned in my seat. "Well, gang? What do you want to do now?"
"Let's go," Darla said. "We have the map." Then her shoulders slumped. "Sorry, Jake. Forgot about Sam. I wasn't thinking."
"We're short on some things, too," I said. "No provisions. We're okay on fuel, but I'm reading low lubrication levels here, and we need coolant, water-"
"Sounds like it'd be a short trip back," Carl said. "Maybe we could get along on next to nothing."
I shook my head. "You're forgetting the trip to the portal over alien terrain. Not only that-something tells me we have miles to go before we sleep. I have some unfinished business back home. Things to do. Trouble is, don't know what to do about maintenance. Unless…" I looked out at the garage.
And I saw Arthur shuffling toward us through the gloom. He waved and came over to the driver's side port.
I thumbed a toggle and the port hissed back into its slot. "Hi, Arthur!" I said brightly. "Say hello to Bruce, here." I slapped the dash. "You two should have something in common."
"Pleased to meet you," Bruce said.
"Hello, Brucie." Arthur poked his dog-nose snout into the cab. "What are you all up to?"
"Housecleaning," I told him. "Getting things shipshape for a quick getaway."
Arthur smiled, the corners of his mouth turning up to reveal smooth rounded teeth. The funnel-shaped ears elevated as he did so. "Good thing I locked up the silverware. Are you leaving soon?"
"Well, no," I said. "I don't think so. There's a little matter of something that was stolen from me. Couple of things, actually."
The ears drooped. "Really? What was stolen?"
"An Artificial Intelligence module belonging to this vehicle's on-board computer. It was quite an advanced type, and its name was Sam. Know anything about it?"
Arthur was a little miffed. "I certainly do not. I hope you don't think I swiped it. Wouldn't think of it."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply an accusation. It's just that I don't have a long list of suspects."
Arthur nodded. "I see what you mean. But I really can't help you. I'm sorry it happened."
"I intend to speak to Prime about it."
"Oh, well, of course you should," Arthur said with a sincere nod of his ungainly head. "I hope things get straightened out." His sloping forehead furrowed. "You said a couple of things were stolen."
"Yeah. One of them I really can't complain about, since I never wanted the thing in the first place. The Black Cube. Know what it is?"
"The Origin Experiment. I know it by name, but that's about all I know. I just work here."
I grunted.
"You're very upset about this, aren't you?" Arthur said sympathetically. "I'm really very sorry."
"I appreciate your concern."
"Well, it's my job to see to your general comfort and welfare." Arthur stepped back and looked the rig over. "Nice truck," he said.
"Thanks," I said.
"Are you people coming upstairs soon?"
"Eventually," I told him. "How are the others doing?"
"Oh, they're having fun. You missed a nice lunch, too."
"Sorry, but we were occupied. Was Prime there?"
"Actually, no," Arthur said. "He's attending to some pressing business."
"Will he be at dinner?"
"No, he won't. I was told to give you his regrets and inform you that he wouldn't be dining with you tonight. Busy, busy, and all that."
"Busy, busy?"
"Sorry."
"Sounds like a convenient excuse."
Arthur shrugged noncommittally.
"I know," I said. "You just work here." "Room and board, no salary," Arthur said.
I snorted, then remembered I was talking to a robot. "Right." I looked around. "Any way to get some service in this garage?"
"What do you need?"
"General scheduled-maintenance stuff."
"Well," Arthur said, "I'm no mechanic, but if you just wheel the truck into one of the maintenance bays, I'm sure you can get what you want."
"Where?"
I fired up the engine, and Arthur waved me across the garage and into a narrow channel lined with banks of machinery. I squeezed into the space and parked, scramming the engine. Almost immediately, things began to happen. We heard whirring and clicking, then a steady hum. Suddenly, a many-segmented mechanical arm, bright and glittering, snaked across the forward port, its business end bristling with strange tools and attachments. Of and by itself, the forward cowling unfolded and flew back, exposing the engine. The tool head hovered for a moment, rotating its attachments until an appropriate one was centered, then dipped out of sight. More arms appeared, busying themselves here and about. Brightly colored tubes wriggled out and attached themselves to valves and petcocks.