Jack found himself feeling light-headed, as if he were running without a warm-up and his system was out of whack, hands cold and pulse racing. He had thought Tappy was dead, then thought he would die, too, and suddenly everything seemed all right. He just didn't trust it!
He had a tendency to react inappropriately when caught out of sorts. He did his best to control it. It wasn't just himself involved here; it was Tappy. When he had undertaken to deliver her to the clinic, he had assumed a commitment to get her there safely. As it had turned out, they had gone on a spectacularly strange journey. Maybe this was the true clinic. But maybe it wasn't. He owed it to her to find out.
"Uh, Tappy— these are your friends?" he asked.
She nodded and smiled.
"Is it okay if I find out more about them?"
Tappy nodded again.
Jack turned to the first man. "Are you human?"
"No. I am what you would call an android or machine. We all are."
"An android, as I see it, is an artificial living man. A robot is a machine in humanoid form with a computer for a brain. Which are you?"
"We conform physically more closely to the latter description. But we are sentient in the manner of the former."
"You mean you are conscious? Free-willed? You're not just a program?"
"That is correct."
Certainly it seemed possible, considering what Jack had already seen: a monstrous spaceship that healed itself, and a building that flashed in and out of existence without crushing what was under it. That cycling seemed to have stopped; once the building had taken them in, it remained firm. "Maybe we had better introduce ourselves. I am Jack. This is Tappy, whom you call the Imago. What are your names?"
"We have none, but will answer to whatever you choose to call us, if the Imago agrees."
"Call her Tappy."
The man glanced at Tappy. "Imago?"
Tappy nodded.
"Jack. Tappy. And our names are?"
The urge to be flippant increased. Jack had to yield to it a little, or risk going wrong in some worse manner. Maybe he could get a smile from Tappy, and tide through. It hardly mattered whether these were friends or enemies: it was better for him to hold his cool until he knew for sure.
He decided to do it the simple way: alphabetically. "You are Abraham, Abe for short. He is Bartholomew, Bart for short. Are there any more of you?"
"There are six of us presently animated," Abe said. "Three of each apparent gender."
That meant that they weren't really male and female.
"Then the third male is Coleman, or Cole." Jack turned to the women. "And you are Abigail, or Abbie, and Bridget, Brie, and the one I don't see is Candace, or Candy."
"Thank you," the two females said together.
"You sound just alike," Jack said. "Can you make your voices different, so we can tell you apart by sound as well as sight?"
"Yes," the two said, in different voices.
"Yes," the two men said, similarly.
Tappy smiled.
This was almost too easy; Jack hardly trusted it. "Look, maybe we'd better get changed, and then we can talk. I guess you folk don't have to eat— you have power cells, right?— but you know we do. So—"
"Certainly," Abe said. "Come with us, Jack."
Jack knew he would have no choice if his will opposed theirs. "We'll change, and then Tappy and I will eat together," he said.
They hesitated. Then Tappy nodded, and Abe spoke immediately. "As you wish, Jack."
They took him to a smaller chamber, where he stripped, wincing as he flexed his bruised shoulder. "You are in physical distress, Jack?" Abe inquired.
"I bashed my shoulder coming in. It will heal."
"There is no need to wait." Abe placed both his hands on the shoulder, one on each side. Jack felt a current, and his pain faded.
The man might be a robot, but he had a healing talent! Maybe it was just some kind of electrical anesthetic, but it made life easier for the moment.
Then Jack stepped into what looked like a shower. Suddenly he felt warm and clean. He had had the equivalent of a full shower in half a second, painlessly. He was still marveling as they presented him with clothing similar to their own. He could tell by the feel that it was of alien material, but it felt good and fit him well. In fact, it seemed to adjust itself to his body of its own volition. So why didn't it fit these alien men and women better?
"Uh, before we go back," Jack said. "Is there a— a bathroom? I mean, a place where I can—?"
"Step into the purifier again," Abe said.
Jack stepped in, but didn't see any toilet. Then, suddenly, he had no need for it. Somehow the wastes in his body had been removed. He decided not to protest.
"Um, Abe— you serve Tappy, right?"
"The present form of the Imago, yes."
"And me you help only because she wants it?"
"Yes. It is not ordinary, but her will is our law, literally."
"And you went to the trouble of learning my language and customs, because of her? You really don't care about me otherwise?"
"This is the situation."
"And if she told you to kill me, you would do it?"
"If she were serious."
"And Tappy herself— you would never harm her, or go against her wish?"
"This is approximately true. Were she to desire something harmful to herself, we would decline—"
"Got it. You really are her agents, no matter what."
"This is the situation."
"Thanks."
"It is her will that you be given full information."
Jack was satisfied with that. Since he also wanted what was best for Tappy, there should be no trouble. If these humanoids really were to be trusted.
They returned to the main chamber. There was now a table there, with fairly familiar food on it. Tappy was standing behind a chair, dressed in a clean and well-fitting blouse and skirt, her hair brushed out and tied back by a red ribbon. Only the scar on her face marred her dawning prettiness. That and the slightly unfocused eyes.
"You look wonderful, Tappy," he said.
She broke into a smile, extending her hand to him. He saw that though she was the mistress here, she remained eager for his company and reassurance.
He took her hand and squeezed it. Then they sat down to their meal, catered by Abbie and Brie.
It consisted of a small lettuce and tomato salad, mashed potatoes, and a steak, with a glass of milk on the side. But the lettuce was red, which was possible, and the tomato green, also possible depending on the variety. The milk was brown, which could mean chocolate. The steak was blue.
It was that last that made him conclude that this was not ordinary food after all. It was artificial food, surely with the requisite nutritive elements. But the Agents— of the Imago— the AI— evidently had no direct experience with the world Jack had known. That showed in their clothing and in the food. Either they were color-blind, or they had misinterpreted the colors. Tappy could not correct them, because she couldn't see the food.
But it took only a moment for Jack to conclude that he should keep his mouth shut, except for eating. This was his first direct evidence that the AI were fallible. There were things they didn't know. That was reassuring. It also argued for their legitimacy, in a perverse way. They were here to help Tappy, who didn't care about the fit of their clothing or the color of the food, so they didn't pay proper attention to that. They hadn't expected Jack, who could see and who knew, so were caught short. Malva would have put him under a mind-probe or something and gotten the details right even if it burned out his brain. The AI had left his mind alone. He had better encourage them to continue doing that.
Tappy was already eating. He dived into his meal, and the taste was close enough. Probably everything was made from hydroponic soybeans and injected with taste and color, but for all he could tell, the steak was from a dragon. It would do.