I sneezed as my feet disturbed the dust ofages. And it was a long way down. The steps ended in a small chamber with illuminated wiring diagrams on the walls and a large, gold-plated door. Carved into it, and inset with diamonds,
were the immortal words I AM. THEREFORE l THINK. Beneath this was a small sign with red letters that read PLEASE WIPE FEET BEFORE ENTERING. I did this, on the mat provided, took a deep breath and reached for the handle that appeared to have been carved from a single ruby.
The door swung open on oiled hinges and I went in. A large, well-lit room, dry and airconditioned. Dials and electronic devices covering one wall. And in the middle of the room…
Mark Forer, obviously. Just like in the paintings. Except that plenty of cables and wires ran from it to a nearby collection of apparatus. Its dials glowed with electronic life and a TV pickup swiveled in my direction. I walked over to stand before it and resisted the compelling desire to bow. And just what does one say to an intelligent machine? The silence lengthened and I began to feel ridiculous. I cleared my throat. "Mark Forer, I presume?"
"Of course. Were you expecting someone else… krrk!
The voice was grating and coarse and the words trailed off with a harsh grating sound. At the same time there was a puff of smoke from a panel on the front and a hatch dropped open. My temper snapped.
"Great! Really wonderful. For hundreds of years this electronic know-it-all sits here with the wisdom of the ages locked in its memory banks. Then the second I talk to it it explodes and expires. It is like the punch line of a bad joke—"
There was a rattle from behind and I leaped and turned, dropped into a defensive position. But it was only a little rubber-tired robot bristling with mechanical extensions. It wheeled up in front of Mark and stopped. A claw-tipped arm shot out, plunging into the open panel. It clicked and whirred and withdrew a circuit board which it threw onto the floor. While this was happening another circuit board was emerging from a slot„on the robot's upper surface. The grasping claw seized this and delicately slid into the opening before it. Marks panel snapped shut as the robot spun about and trundled away.
"No," Mark Forer said in a deep and resonant voice, "I did not explode and expire. My voice simulation board did. Shorted out. Been a number of centuries since I last used it. You are the ofiworlder, James diGriz."
"I am. For a machine in an underground vault you keep up with things pretty well, Mark."
"No problem, Jim—since you appear to enjoy a first name basis. Because all of my input is electronic it really doesn't matter where my central processor is."
"Right, hadn't thought of that." I stepped aside as a broom and brush bristling robot rushed up and swept the discarded circuit board into its bin. "Well, Mark, if you know who I am, then you certainly know what is happening topside."
"I certainly do. Haven't seen so much excitement in the last thousand years."
"Oh, are you enjoying it?" I was beginning to get angry at this cold and enigmatic electronic intelligence. I was a little shocked when it chuckled with appreciative laughter.
"Temper, temper, Jim. I've cut back in the voice feedback emotion circuits for you. I stopped using them centuries ago when I found that the true believers preferred an excathedra voice. Or are you more partial to women?" It added in a warm contralto.
"Stay male, if you please, it seems more natural some-
THE STMNIfSS STEEL MT GETS DRAPTED MS
how. Though why I should associate sex with a machine I have no idea. Does it make a difference to you?"
"Not in the slightest. You may refer to me as he, she or it. Sex is of no importance to me."
"Well it is to us humans—and I'll bet you miss it!"
"Nonsense. You can't miss what you never had. Do you wake up at night yearning helplessly for photoreceptors in your fingertips?"
It was a well-made point: old Mark here was no dummy. But fascinating as the chitchat was, it was just about time I got to the point of this visit.
"Mark—1 have come here for avery important reason."
"Undoubtedly. "
"You've heard the broadcasts, you know what is happening up there. That murdering moron Zennor is going to kill ten of your faithful followers in the morning. What do you intend to do about it?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing!" I lost my temper and kicked the front of the bumished panel. "You invented Individual Mutualism and foisted it upon the galaxy. You taught the faithful and brought them here—and now you are going to stand by and watch them die?"
"Knock off the cagal, Jim," it said warmly. "Try sticking to the truth. I published a political philosophy. People read it, got enthusiastic, applied it and liked it. They brought me here, not the other way around. I have emotions, just as you do, but I don't let them interfere with logic and truth. So cool it, kid, and let's get back to square one."
I moved aside as the broom-robot rushed up again, extended a little damp mop and polished off the scuff mark on Mark's housing that I had made with my shoe. I took a deep breath and calmed down because really, losing my temper would accomplish nothing at all.
"Right you are, Mark, square one. People are going to be killed up there. Are you going to do anything about it?"
"There is not much I can do physically. And everything
AJJI U·UY Unrbu
ZWI IWOi nWiiSWI political or philosophical is in my book. The citizens up there know as much about IM as I do."
"So you are Just going to sit there and listen to the sizzle of your electrons and let them die."
"People have died before for their beliefs."
"Wonderful. Well I believe in living for mine. And I am going to do something—even if you do not."
"What do you intend to do?"
"I don't know yet. Do you have advice for me?"
"About what?"
"About saving lives, that's.what. About ending the invasion and polishing offZennor…"
And then I had it. I didn't need to swap political arguments with Mark—1 just had to use its intelligence. If it had memory banks thousands of years old it certainly had the knowledge I needed. And I still had the electronic spy bird!
"Well, Mark old machine, you could help me. Just a bit of information."
"Certainly."
"Do you know the spatial coordinates of this system and this planet?"
"Of course."
"Then you give me a little printout of them, soonest! So I can send an FTL message to the League Navy for help."
"I don't see why I should do that."
I lost my temper. "You don't see …! Listen you moronic machine. I'm just asking for a bit of information that will save lives—and you don't see…"
"Jim, my new oflworlder friend. Do not lose your tem-
per so quickly. Bad for the blood pressure. Let me finish my statement, if I might. I was going to add that this information would be redundant. You sent an FTL mes-
sage yourself, just after you retrieved the corvine-disguised transmitter."
Chapter 29
"I sent an FTL message?" I said, my thoughts stumbling about in small circles. "You did."
"But—but—but—" I stopped and seized myself by the mental neck and gave it a good shaking. Logic, Jim, time for logic. "The recorded message from Captain Varod said that I would need the coordinates to send an FTL message."
"That was obviously a lie."
"Saying it was a radio message was a lie too?"
"Of course. "
I paced back and forth and the TV pickup followed me as I moved. What was going on? Why had Varod lied to me about the signal? And if he had received it where was he? If he had got the signal and hadn't sent his fleet or whatever, then he was the one who must take the responsibility for the murders. The League did not go in for that sort of thing. But Mark might know what was happening. I spun about.
"Speak, ancient brain-in-box!! Has the League Navy arrived or is it on the way?"
"I'm sorry, Jim, I just don't know. The last orbiting telescope ran out of power centuries ago. I know no more than you do about this. All I can surmise is that we are very distant from these rescuers you expect."