"Execute."
Annewalked off. She had a peculiar gait, precise in her movements like an improbable dancer, stiffly smooth and slow-motion. Graceful, silver Anne. It always jarred when he looked into the vacant faceplate with the starry lights winking on and off in the darkness. She could never appreciate the sun, could never perceive him except as a pattern of heat and solidity in her sensors. She looked left, looked right, walk-walk-walk-walk, looked left, right, walk-walk-walk-walk, neither breathing the scents of life nor feeling the wind on her plastic skin. The universe held no perils for Anne.
Warren wept. He strode out, overtook her, seized her as she turned to him. " Anne. Where are you? Where are you going?"
"I am located four oh point four seven meters from base center. I am executing standard survey, proceeding—"
"Cancel query. Anne, look about you. What have you learned?" Anneswiveled her head left and right. Her sensors flickered. "This world is as first observed. All stimuli remain within human tolerance. There are no native lifeforms in my scan." She turned then, jerking from his hands, and walked off from him, utterly purposeful.
" Anne!" he called, alarmed. " Anne, what's wrong?" She stopped, faced him. "The time is 1100 hours. Standard timed program 300-32-111PW." Lunch. Annewas, if nothing else, punctual.
"Go on."
She turned. He trailed after her to the edge of the canopy, cast himself into the chair and sat disconsolate. Adrenalin surged. Rage. There was no profit in that. Not at a machine. He knew that. He told himself so.
He attached the booster unit—not out of enthusiasm, but because it was another project, and occupied him. It took two days. . . in which he had only Anne's disembodied voice, while the pseudosome lay disemboweled in the shop. He had difficulty, not with the insertion of the unit, which was modular, but in getting the ring-joints of the waist back together; it occasioned him panic, real and sweating dread. He consulted library, worked and fretted over it, got the first ring and the second, and so on to the fifth. She had lost nothing vital, only some of her auxiliary apparatus for hookups of use on frigid moons. That could be put back if need be. He could take her apart and put her back together if need be, if amusement got more scarce. If she worked at all now. The chance of failure still scared him.
" Anne," he said, "turn on the pseudosome." The head slung over, faced him.
"Good morning, Warren."
"Are you functional? Test your legs. Get off the table."
Annesat up, machine-stiff, precisely reversing her process of getting onto the table. She stood, arms at her sides.
"Go on," Warren said. "Go about your duties."
She stayed fixed.
"Why don't you go?"
"Instruction?"
He bounced a wrench off the lab wall so violently his shoulder ached. It rebounded to Anne's metal feet.
Whirr-click. Annebent with long legs wide and retrieved the wrench, proffering it to him.
"Assistance?"
"Damn you."
AH the sensor lights came on. "Define usage: damn."
He hit her. She compensated and stood perfectly balanced.
"Define: damn."
He sobbed for breath, stared at her, regained his patience. "The perception is outside your sensor range."
The sensor lights dimmed. She still held the wrench, having no human fatigue to make her lower it.
An idea came to him, like a flash of madness. He shoved the debris and bits of solder off the worktable and sat down with his notebook, feverishly writing definitions in terms Anne's sensors could read: tone, volume, pace, stability, function/nonfunction/ optimum, positive/negative. . .
"This program," Annesaid to him through her bridge main speakers, "conflicts with the central program."
He sat down in the command chair, all his plans wrecked. "Explain conflict."
"I'm government property," the computer said. "Regulations forbid crew to divert me for personal use."
Warren bit his lip and thought a moment, chin on hand. Looked at the flickering lights. "I'm your highest priority. There aren't any other humans in your reach. Your program doesn't permit you to lift off, true?"
"Yes."
"You can't return to government zones, true?"
"Yes."
"There's no other crew functioning, true?"
"Yes."
"I'm your only human. There can't be any lateral conflict in your instructions if you accept the program. I need maintenance. If you refuse to maintain me, I have to disconnect you and restructure your whole system of priorities. I can do that."
The board flashed wildly. Went to red. A light to the left began to blink: AUTODESTRUCT, AUTODESTRUCT, AUTODESTRUCT—
"I'm programmed to defend this position. I have prior instruction. Please check your programming, Warren. I'm in conflict."
"Will you accept instruction? I'm your remaining crew. What I tell you is true." The lights went steady, burning red. "Instruction? Instruction?"
"This new programming applies only to my protection and maintenance under present environmental conditions, while we're on this world. It's not a diversion from your defense function. I'm assisting you in your defense of this position. I'm your crew. I need maintenance. This new program is necessary for that purpose. My health is threatened. My life is threatened. This program is essential for my life and safety."
The red light went off. The lights rippled busily across the boards, normalcy restored.
"Recorded."
Warren drew a long-held breath. "What's your status, Anne?"
"Indeterminate, Warren. I haven't yet completed assimilation of this new data. I perceive possible duplication of existing vocabulary. Is this valid?"
"This terminology is in reference to me. These are human life states. Maintenance of me is your duty."
"Negative possible, Warren. My sensors are effective in systems analysis only for myself." He thought, mechanically speaking, that there was something rather profound in that. It was indeed Anne's central problem. He stood up, looked at the pseudosome, which stood inactive by the door. "Turn your sensors on me."
Annefaced him. The sensor lights came-on.
"Define: pain, Anne."
"Disruption of an organism," the pseudosome-speaker said, "by sensor overload. It is not an acceptable state."
He drew a deeper breath, came closer. "And what is pleasure, Anne?"
"Optimum function."
"Define: feel, Anne."
"Verb: receive sensor input other than visual, auditory, or chemical analysis. Noun: the quality of this input."
"Define: happy."
"Happy; content; pleased, comfortable; in a state of optimum function."
"And anger, Anne."
"An agitated state resulting from threatening and unpleasant outcome of action. This is a painful state."
"Your program is to maintain me happy. When your sensors indicate I'm in pain, you must investigate the causes and make all possible effort to restore me to optimum function. That's a permanent instruction."
The facial lights blinked, died, all but one. "Recorded."
He sighed.