[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

thing I locked up the silverware. Are you leaving soon?"
"Well, no," I said. "I don't think so. There's a little matter of something
that was stolen from me. Couple of things, actu-
ally."
The ears drooped. "Really? What was stolen?"
"An Artificial Intelligence module belonging to this vehi-
cle's on-board computer. It was quite an advanced type, and its name was Sam.
Know anything about it?"
Arthur was a little miffed. "I certainly do not. I hope you don't think I
swiped it. Wouldn't think of it."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to imply an accusation. It's just that I
don't have a long list of suspects."
Arthur nodded. "I see what you mean. But I really can't help you. I'm sony it
happened."
"I intend to speak to Prime about it."
"Oh, well, of course you should," Arthur said with a sin-
cere nod of his ungainly head. "I hope things get straightened out." His
sloping forehead furrowed. "You said a couple of things were stolen."
"Yeah. One of them I really can't complain about, since I
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never wanted the thing in the first place. The Black Cube.
Know what it is?"
"The Origin Experiment. I know it by name, but that's about all I know. I just
work here."
I grunted.
"You're very upset about this, aren't you?" Arthur said sympathetically. "I'm
really very sorry."
"I appreciate your concern."
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"Well, it's my job to see to your general comfort and wel-
fare." Arthur stepped back and looked the rig over. "Nice truck," he said.
"Thanks," I said.
"Are you people coming upstairs soon?"
"Eventually," I told him. "How are the others doing?"
"Oh, they're having fun. You missed a nice lunch, too."
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"Sorry, but we were occupied. Was Prime there?"
"Actually, no," Arthur said. "He's attending to some press-
ing business."
"Will he be at dinner?"
"No, he won't. I was told to give you his regrets and in-
form you that he wouldn't be dining with you tonight. Busy, busy, and all
that."
"Busy, busy?"
"Sorry."
"Sounds like a convenient excuse."
Arthur shrugged noncommittally.
"I know," I said. "You just work here."
"Room and board, no salary," Arthur said.
I snorted, then remembered I was talking to a robot.
"Right." I looked around. "Any way to get some service in this garage?"
"What do you need?"
"General scheduled-maintenance stuff."
"Well," Arthur said, "I'm no mechanic, but if you just wheel the truck into
one of the maintenance bays, I'm sure you can get what you want."
"Where?"
I fired up the engine, and Arthur waved me across the garage and into a narrow
channel lined with banks of ma-
chinery. I squeezed into the space and parked, scramming the
88 John DeChancie engine. Almost immediately, things began to happen. We heard
whirring and clicking, then a steady hum. Suddenly, a many-segmented
mechanical arm, bright and glittering, snaked across the forward port, its
business end bristling with strange tools and attachments. Of and by itself,
the forward cowling unfolded and flew back, exposing the engine. The tool head
hovered for a moment, rotating its attachments until an appropriate one was
centered, then dipped out of sight.
More arms appeared, busying themselves here and about.
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Brightly colored tubes wriggled out and attached themselves to valves and
petcocks.
Bruce's voice was vaguely troubled. "Jake, I don't quite know what is
happening."
"We're getting super service," I said.
More arms shot into view, all crisscrossing but never touching, each going
about its task with blurring speed. Zip, snap, click, bang. Sparks flew, tiny
wisps of steam trailed off, vapors rose amid a writhing tangle of mad
mechanical appen-
dages.
It was over in less than a minute. Everything retracted, the cowling slammed
shut, a deep gong sounded. And there was silence.
I checked all the readouts. The fuel tanks were full. Lubri-
cation and coolant levels were maximum, the water tanks were brimming, all
batteries showed a full charge.
"All systems A-O.K., Jake," Bruce pronounced.
"Looks like," I said.
"I wonder if they give free dishes," Carl said.
"Maybe this is the elusive place that gives green stamps
whatever the hell they are... or were." I pulled out of the maintenance bay,
wheeled out onto the floor of the garage, and parked. Arthur started walking
toward us.
"You guys want to go back upstairs?" I said.
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"Let's stay in the truck tonight," Daria said.
"Yeah, let's," Carl seconded.
Lori nodded, and I said, "Okay."
"It's all the same to me," was Arthur's response. "Less bodies to look after.
Have fun." He turned to leave.
"Hey, Art?" I called after him. "Er... Arthur."
He halted, looking back over his narrow shoulder. "Arthur
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I can put up with," he said with weary tolerance; "Art is a little too much."
"Sorry. Do you have a proper name?"
"Does a duck quack? Never mind, you couldn't pronounce it." Arthur turned
around. "What do you want?"
"How do you get out of this place?"
Arthur pointed off to the right. "Just follow that green line across the floor
there. It'll take you to an exit tunnel."
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"That line there?"
"Is there another one? Yes, that line there, dearie."
"And that's the way out?"
Pensively, Arthur rubbed the underside of his snout. "Well, let's see. Exit
tunnel. Exit. Hmmm. Now, the last time I
looked, I thought for sure the word exit meant a way out." [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]