"That's impossible. The timing pattern's too precise."
"So what other option do you have?" He said nothing, but from the look on his face she knew what he was thinking. "The Other?" she whispered.
"I'd release the file attribute locks and take down the partition."
Laura began to ask another question, but Gray didn't let her get it out. "I would kill the computer, Laura. It would cease to exist… forever. That's the decision I have to make… in the next twenty-three hours."
He slapped at the plate by the door. With a hiss it opened, and he was gone.
38
When Laura got out of bed the next morning, there were little aches all over, but no big ones. She felt so good she almost put on her running clothes. Better not, she decided as she surveyed the bruises and scrapes in front of the floor-length bathroom mirror.
Besides, today was the big day.
She showered and dressed in jeans and a plain white T-shirt, going slightly more formal by tucking the shirt in. Her jeans were loose, and she felt a flash of anger on remembering the Rate Your Mate profile.
"Best non-erogenous body part: teeny tummy." She pulled her hair back in a ponytail so hard she winced, but then changed her mind and let it fall loose to her shoulders to dry.
Laura opened the curtains to make sure the day looked warm and sunny before heading out with wet hair. Two gray ships plied the blue waters just off the launch pads. They weren't large, but their purpose was clear. They were warships.
She headed out, half expecting to see marines with guns in the foyer. Instead she found Janet, who was instructing the new house staff on the morning's chores.
"Oh, good morning, Dr. Aldridge," Janet said, coming over to greet Laura with a broad smile. "Are you feeling better?"
"I'm fine, thanks." Laura half turned away from the staff but then whispered, "Janet, there are navy ships down by the launch pads."
"Oh, yes. Those would be a frigate and a destroyer, I believe Mr. Hoblenz said. The USS Somethings-or-Other." She was as matter-of fact as if she were telling her guest where to find the extra blankets.
"What are they doing there?" Janet shrugged. "I don't really know. I'm sure Mr. Gray does, though, if you'd like to ask him. He's taking his breakfast alone in the kitchen."
Laura found the door to the butler's pantry easily this time.
She was getting comfortable in the large house. Gray sat on the same stool at the butcher-block island. He was slumped over his plate, holding his coffee mug to his lips as he read the newspaper.
As before, she saw it was the sports section.
He looked up. "Laura! How do you feel this morning?"
"There are navy ships right off the coast."
"Uh-hum," Gray said, his face buried in his mug as he took a swig of coffee. "Have a seat."
Laura sat on the stool opposite his. Janet had obviously ensured that he didn't repeat the indignity of a peanut-butter-and-jelly meal.
The countertop was filled with blintzes and eggs and meats and sweets.
Laura helped herself to heaping piles of the abundant servings. She was famished.
"How can you be so totally unconcerned?" she asked.
"I had a good night's sleep. Five solid hours. I'm really a morning person. I feel like I can do anything on mornings like this."
"Well, I'm glad you feel so confident about the situation. With navy ships sitting off my island," she mumbled with her mouth full, "not that I have an island, but I'd be a little bit antsy."
"They're not going to bother us," Gray said as he scanned the box scores from the NBA.
Laura noticed that the paper was dated that day. "How do you get the New York Times so quickly way out here?" she asked.
"We print it and a few magazines under license," he replied, without taking his eyes off the article. "Just pay for the bits of information."
Laura glanced at the front page.
ARMY OF KILLER ROBOTS, the banner headline read. The entire top half was devoted to Gray. There was an artist's rendition of the asteroid, a grainy photo of a helicopter unloading a body bag, a map of the island that helped Laura get her bearings, and pictures of Gray's three rockets arcing into the night sky. Around the photos were articles whose smaller headlines read, "Gray to Decelerate Asteroid Tonight," "Dutch Soldier's Remains Returned," and "Tensions Rise with Latest Launches." The articles got it all wrong.
"Joseph," Laura said, looking up, "they're making you sound like some kind of monster! You've got to go on TV or something and rebut some of these charges! 'Gray's robots include a top-secret model nicknamed the Terminator by island residents, which is believed to be the model that decapitated a Dutch army captain. See story on page 9. Said to be over twenty feet tall, the Terminator is built exclusively for combat. It would, according to sources familiar with robotics, be capable of carrying a wide array of weapons systems in the rotating turret located high on the robot's body.'"
Gray laughed. "Where do they get all this stuff?" Laura asked.
"I wouldn't have any idea," Gray said before licking the strawberry jam off his spoon.
A smile grew on Laura's face. "I didn't think you played games like that."
"I'm trying to work on my public relations skills."
"Well, you're creating quite an image for yourself." She read on.
"'Particle-beam weapons mounted on orbital weapons platforms?' Sounds pretty impressive." After skimming most of Gray's press, she asked, "So, how's the computer this morning?"
"It's down to around fifty percent capacity. A lot of the functions are in a state of flux, which means they're significantly disrupted. But the computer should be able to take a few functions back from the Other by using some new fiber-optic cables we're laying over to the annex."
"Is the deceleration going to be a problem tonight?"
He shook his head. "I don't think so. The Model Eight we sent up to the asteroid appears satisfied that everything's in order."
Laura tried to picture the two robots meeting on that dark world. The space-faring Model Seven would never have seen a Model Eight before. "And the two robots are working well together?" Laura asked.
"Sure," Gray said, tossing his napkin on the counter. "Why wouldn't they?" Laura shrugged. He rose to his feet and said, "Well, I've got to be getting to work."
"Like to share a taxi?" Laura asked with a smile.
"I'll call your car."
It was a meaningless slight, but it spoiled the good mood with which Laura had started the day.
Laura decided to take it easy, and sat on her windy bedroom balcony. The two warships slowly circled the island like Indian warriors in some old western. A brand-new portable computer sat in her lap. The one she'd left on the roof of the computer center still worked, but the plastic had turned an unsightly brown.
"I understand you're feeling a little better?" Laura typed.
<A little, thanks. Mr. Gray is having crews pull glass from the computer center to the annex. Don't tell the Other, but I'm planning a counterattack through those optical cables to take some of my functions back. You'd better stay away from the computer center today.>
The warning chilled Laura. "Is it going to be dangerous?"
<No! It's just very muddy from all the trenching they're doing.>
Laura laughed at her melodramatic overreaction. "Okay, let's get right to it. How do you define a 'self?'"
<A self is a finite, unique soul or essence that constitutes a sentient being's identity.>
"That's a school definition. What's your definition?"
<A self is an imaginary entity manufactured for the preservation of the self's host.>
Laura read and reread the response. She pulled out her pad and wrote down the response word for word. "So its function is solely for 'self-preservation'?"