“Emergency!” screamed one robotic voice above the others. “Expellee restraint systems broken down!
Malfunction in cell-deck—”
“Condition of restraint broken!” confirmed another, still louder. “This system has no data for release of expellees in condition phase!”
Even through her hands, Liz could make out the sense of the most clamorous reports. And she could see that the two servitors were affected by the massive confusion all around her. They had stopped, feet short of Maran. Black tentacles began, to retract. Dull-gleaming carapaces looked about the cell-deck with almost a human bewilderment.
Maran’s hands were busy at the controls.
What was he doing? Liz thought dazedly.
“Confused instruction!” the Grade Two robot complained. “Instructions for the release of expellees have been received contrary to standing orders! Confirmation from Grade One system requested!”
“This low-grade servitor is confused!” agreed the robot nearest Maran.
“This low-grade servitor also!” added its companion. “No further instructions have been received since release of all expellees was ordered. Does this instruction supercede order for apprehension of released expellee?”
A maintenance unit screamed for attention. Liz saw the-tiny, spider-like machine edge its way from a tiny hole and make for the command console, where Maran was standing, exhausted and panting from his efforts.
Liz saw with a growing realization that Maran had temporarily disrupted the machines. She could at last begin to reason; Maran was a cyberneticist. Maran understood the mechanisms of control as no one else had ever done. And Maran was loose in a ship which was run by the robots. Why or how he was loose could wait. That he was loose—that he had begun to exert his bizarre genius over one important system—was enough.
She spoke out, trying to make herself heard over the uproar of the machines: “Get Maran! He’s murdered a guard! You two servitors—you had your instructions—get him!” Sensitive to the human voice, able to select its tones from the robotic clamor, they turned. Behind them Maran reached for a sensor-pad. Liz saw his big head stiffen. His hands moved again, weaving a spell over the command console. Liz might have moved had it not been for the slight disturbance in the ooze beside her.
She looked, the movement catching her eye. The noise of slithering increased. A head peered forward from the gray ooze. Eyes that had been busy with empty dreams were pools of doubt and pain. The prisoner in the ooze was looking at her.
Liz understood what Maran had done to cause such, confusion among the robot overseers of the expellees. He had begun to arouse the prisoners. Horrified, she heard Maran’s voice. He was calling to the dead man. Recognizing and despising her helplessness, she could only watch. Maran glanced once, and looked back to the console. The robots’ sensors followed his movements but they were still in a state of doubt. Wary, ready to move with smooth speed, they were trapped by the inability of their supervisors to disperse the confusion Maran was still building. Maran raised his head to take in the scene. Sluggish movements from the tanks attracted him. He began to talk, quietly, soothingly, to the console before him. Within seconds the robotic complaints began to die away. The spider-like robot was a flashing, sparkling thing as it crept toward him. He reached out a huge hand and knocked it away. It lay still.
Rosario had been thinking about Liz Deffant when the first warnings came through. She should have been a bright, talkative, happy girl, but she was not. There was a sadness about her eyes; she had been hurt. Then there was the urgency of her return to Messier 16. Had that something to do with her low-key conversation? He wondered if he could make a stopover on the return flight from the Rim. It might be possible.
The first metallic howls put all thoughts of her out of his head.
The pedestal which housed the ES 110’s robotic director let out a blast of protest: “There will be no premature release of prisoners! Instructions are not confused! Galactic Council Penal Code directives are unalterable! There must be no release of expellees until destination reached!” The normally calm voice was partly obscured by the electronic uproar of shrill systems demanding instructions, Rosario had never heard the robots disagree. This was an emergency, possibly a disaster.
“Release,” called Poole, emerging from the dining area. His mouth still champed on food. “Release, Jack!
Did it say—”
“Pete!” yelled Rosario into the console before him. “Tup! What’s happening down there?”
“A prisoner out,” Poole said wildly. “How, Jack, how?”
“Confused data!” screamed a Grade Two robot. “Servitors do not respond to my orders! Prisoner is trying to interfere with controls for this system!”
“The cell-deck Grade Two!” Rosario shouted. “Dieter! Mack!” The two Security men came at a run. They had no need to be told what was happening. Poole looked helplessly at the console. It was alive with writhing sensor-pads. It seemed demented. Warning lights flashed zanfly. A stream of messages clamored for attention. From the Grade One’s pedestal came a confused roar of questions. Rosario grabbed a pair of sensor-pads and allowed them to report.
“Do we go down?” asked Dieter when Rosario turned to them.
“No.”
“What should I do?” pleaded Poole, infected by terror now.
“Red Alert?” asked Mack.
“It should have gone out!”
“It hasn’t?”
“No,” said Rosario grimly.
“Then what’s happening?” Poole shrilled, “We’ve an escaped prisoner down there—the Grade Two says so! And he’s taking over the deck!”
“What do we have so far?” asked Dieter. He had to shout above the sudden shrilling uproar.
“It’s confused, but three different executive systems report the same thing. Whoever’s free is trying to reactivate the whole deck. All the cells.”
Poole caught the words. “Reactivate, Jack? Who’d do that—no one but a maniac!”
“No one but a person who knew what would send the robots crazy,” said Dieter. Rosario was ahead of him. There was a pattern in the chaotic events. The Grade One robot was appalled. Several of the Grade Two robots had at least temporarily become incapable of decision-making. They had been persuaded to release the expellees. Unbelievable, yet it had happened. Rosario could imagine the scenes on the lower deck as the prisoners awoke. Neural systems would be receiving stimulative charges. Powerful drugs, heavy electrical bursts, would pour into the conditioned brains of the expellees. Men and women would be shocked into consciousness. Their bodies, totally unprepared for the gross shocks they were receiving, would thrash frenetically in the gray ooze.
“Do something!” bawled Poole.
The robots were in a state of electronic catatonia. They had accepted orders which contravened their code.
“It’s him,” said Dieter.
Rosario nodded. “No one else. Maran.”
“Maran!” Poole squealed.
“We could take him,” offered Mack, ignoring Poole’s panic.
“No,” said Rosario. He knew that three people he knew and liked were in appalling danger. “No,” he decided. “We have to stay here and try to get the Grade One to recover. But the main thing is to alert Galactic Center.”
“A Red Alert,” agreed Dieter.
“With anyone else, we’d try,” said Rosario. “But Maran—” They knew what he meant. Only a Maran could have baffled the sophisticated circuitry of the Enforcement Service vessel.