Less Than Human (10 page)

“The Kawanishi welder?” Nishino interrupted. “Why is it in your lab?”

“As there was nobody here in your lab on Saturday, I responded to the call,” said Eleanor stiffly. “The transport people probably
had my name when they picked it up.”

“I’ll send somebody around to take a look.” Nishino leaned forward, and the viewer was filled with his broad, red face. He
seemed to think she couldn’t see him otherwise. “The checkup is only a formality, isn’t it? Human error, I was told.”

“In a way,” Eleanor said. “I wanted to ask you about the welder’s ID. Why doesn’t it match the one on record?”

He stared at her. “Of course it matches the record.”

Eleanor sighed. “When I compare the two, the ID tail is different.”

Sweat shone off Nishino’s forehead. This was potentially a major problem—how could manufacturers keep track of their products
if mistakes like this happened?

“I’ll get someone on it.”

Eleanor nodded. “I’m sure the number was just entered incorrectly in the first place.” And should have been picked up a dozen
times since then, she didn’t add.

Nishino wiped his upper lip with a blue handkerchief. “How about we look into that while you finish the accident report?”

“Deal,” said Eleanor. “I’ll send you my notes.” She cut the link and sent Nishino the file. She could finish the report as
soon as he’d finished. She hoped there wasn’t a problem with any other robot’s ID processing. The industry would be in a real
mess if robots weren’t “themselves.”

On the other hand, if the robot wasn’t itself, maybe that explained why it didn’t act like itself. Was she looking at a virus—or
a person—that could change a robot’s identity? Theoretically, it was impossible. Any attempt to do so would destroy the base
programs first, then initiate barriers to prevent rewriting. No one at Kawanishi had the expertise, as far as she knew. So
it must have been someone from outside. They could have placed a time-lag device in the robot sometime before the incident.

Kawanishi’s maintenance logs should show who accessed the robot recently. She called Kawanishi’s number. The day shift manager
answered, on audio only.

He wasn’t sure when the last maintenance was done. He’d ask the technician to check. Now? Well, if she wanted to waste phone
time … she just wanted to check the access logs, right? He thought the police already did that. Eleanor repeated she wasn’t
from the police, she was with Tomita.

The floor manager’s verb endings rose a level in politeness. They’d never had a problem with a Tomita robot before. He hoped
she could find out what happened. They didn’t want to have to get rid of their other Tomita machines.

Eleanor assured him that wouldn’t be necessary. She merely wanted to know who serviced the robot last and when it was done.

The floor manager would let her talk to the technician in charge of maintenance. The manager would appreciate it if Eleanor
didn’t use up too much of the technician’s time.

The technician had a young voice with nasal Osaka intonation. He told her that nobody on the floor was allowed access to the
welder’s controller except the floor managers.

“The last time the controller was checked …” He paused, and Eleanor could hear him tapping keys.

“Opened?” she said.

“No, just checked visually. We make sure it’s secure. The last time was August 2. Security checks are always done at the beginning
of the month. Makes it easy for everyone to remember.”

“You haven’t had a visit from our tech?”

“Not since, oh, early July. Our other welder is a Zecom machine. It was properly checked on the twelfth. Maybe you guys should
be as thorough as Zecom.”

Zecom was the biggest manufacturer in the field. They could afford to send their technicians out more frequently.

“What sort of checkup?”

“The usual, I suppose. He was here most of the day. Nice bloke.”

“Thank you.” She closed the connection and sat staring at the speakers for a while. Nobody at the factory had checked the
Tomita welder’s controller since the beginning of August. And nobody had opened it since the Tomita technician last visited
in July. But the blank in the log showed that the robot was tampered with at least an hour before Mito’s death. Which should
have been impossible. She groaned inwardly.

Why didn’t Mito notice sooner that the robot had stopped?

All controllers were linked on the factory network, so the foreman could see how each job progressed and which machines were
at which workstation. The floor manager hadn’t mentioned any other machines being off-line. But she hadn’t asked, either.

She called Kawanishi again and spoke to the same duty technician. He said they had no other machines with problems.

“How about the other welder, the Zecom one—is it working normally?” she said.

“I can’t tell you that.” The technician sounded almost cheerful.

“Look, all I’m doing is trying to make sure a similar accident doesn’t happen again.”

“No, I mean I can’t check the other welder because Zecom recalled it.”

“When?”

“Yesterday afternoon. They brought a replacement along, too.” This last was a dig at Tomita, which hadn’t yet organized a
replacement—because Eleanor hadn’t finished the report.

“This is the number they said to call.” He gave her a number with a long-distance prefix.

“Thanks.” She closed the connection. Zecom might just be playing the public relations game, demonstrating that they put safety
first and were prepared to take a loss if it was necessary to protect lives. But a company as large as Zecom wouldn’t bother
about a customer as minor as Kawanishi, especially not in these times of stringent budgets. Since the Seikai boom began to
slow, everyone feared a return to the depression of the early 2000s. Zecom would be no exception.

Zecom might have recalled their welder because they thought it had been affected by whatever happened to the Tomita welder.
The two companies were rivals in a number of fields, including industrial robotics. Zecom was where Akita had gone after he
left Tomita. He hadn’t stayed there long, obviously. Too much of a prima donna, she thought waspishly.

After a moment’s hesitation, she tapped Zecom’s number. It was nearly nine o’clock; somebody should be there.

“Robotics lab. What’s the problem?” The whining voice sounded unpleasantly familiar. The other person to leave Tomita for
Zecom. The one she didn’t want to have to ask for favors.

“Hello, Nakamura-san. This is McGuire, from Tomita.”

“My goodness. McGuire-san.” Nakamura sounded less surprised than she expected. “It’s been a long time.”

“Yes, it has. How’s everything there?”

“Wonderful. I’ve got a very fulfilling job here.”

And you were totally neglected and downtrodden here, Eleanor said to herself. “Excellent. Um, the reason I’m calling is that
we recalled one of our robots, a T56 welder, because of an accident. You might have seen it in the papers. We’re sure it was
human error, but I have found a couple of m … minor discrepancies in the controller log …” She inwardly cursed her stumbling
tongue.

“Why are you calling here, then?” Nakamura interrupted.

“Because you … I mean, Zecom, recalled one of your 316 Series welders that was also at the factory.

“I don’t know anything about that.” Nakamura’s tone grew more pompous. “I’ve moved on from simple industrial stuff. This is
our main research lab, you know.”

Eleanor gritted her teeth. “Yes, I know. But the floor manager at Kawanishi—that’s the factory where the accident happened—he
said the Zecom people gave him this number to call if he had any queries.”

Short silence. She wished she could see his face. “Can you activate your video?”

“Sorry, we can’t show outsiders our lab.” He cleared his throat with a self-conscious eh-hem, another of his little habits.

“So, is your 316 from Kawanishi there or not?”

“I’ll go and check. As a personal favor to you.”

He’d think it funny to put her in his debt.

“Possibly the carriers gave this number by mistake,” he added.

A synthesizer rendition of an old Japanese folk tune replaced Nakamura’s voice. The simplistic melody reminded Eleanor of
the nationalist trucks that had patrolled the streets of Osaka in prereform days, blaring lullabies and military songs so
loudly that you couldn’t talk as they drove by.

After a couple more bars the song faded, and a high female voice began telling Eleanor about Zecom’s many achievements in
the robotics industry.

… first machine tool factory in the world to use completely automated … international links formed in the 1990s have …

She wondered if you could put the latest cranial phone implants on hold. Most of the implants were simple vibrators that stimulated
nerves in the skin to let users know when they had a call, as well as being fashion accessories. You still had to use a physical
phone to listen from and speak into.

… Seikai reconstruction plan for Inner Tokyo and Yokohama. Zecom’s central role was recognized in an address by the mayor
…

She’d seen more sophisticated implants that combined ocular and neural navigation aids with tiny embedded microphones that
let you listen to calls directly.

Zecom, a symbol of the New Japan.
Synthesizer music again.

Nakamura was taking his time. Maybe it was a mistake. Certainly, a 316 welder shouldn’t go to the main lab for a routine checkup.

“McGuire-san? Sorry to keep you waiting.” Nakamura didn’t sound sorry. “The robot is here, but only as a safety precaution.
We wanted to reassure the factory owner that
our
machines are safe.”

“Fine. So it hasn’t been checked yet?”

“Not as far as I know.”

“Well, please call me if you find anything that might affect other machines.”

Nakamura eh-hemmed again. “I won’t be handling such a minor chore, but I’ll pass on your request. Good-bye.”

“Good-bye,” said Eleanor shortly. And good riddance. She wriggled her shoulders, which had stiffened with tension. Tomita
had lost one good researcher to Zecom when Akita left, but they were welcome to Nakamura.

Should she tell the police about Zecom recalling their robot? It didn’t seem important. She decided to attach a comment to
her report and leave it at that. And then she could get back to her own project. At last.

Or so she thought.

“See, there, near the port? When we unscrewed the panel to check the wiring, we found that.” Nishino’s loud breathing rasped
in her ear as she bent over the bottom of the welder’s control panel.

A small disc, no bigger than an old one-yen coin, was seemingly welded to the circuitry. Presumably Nishino hadn’t levered
it off for fear of damaging it before they knew what it was.

“You said you found an interruption to this robot’s connection to the factory network?”

She straightened up and stepped discreetly away. Nishino’s size and sweatiness made her feel hot.

“Yes, but that’s no a reason to go off-line, or to disrupt its program. Neither the port nor the network cable showed any
sign of damage.”

“I know, but maybe there’s some connection with the accident.”

She squinted at the faintly luminescent disc. It looked like some kind of biometal.

“We ran a level-two circuit analysis of the way the disc is attached.” Nishino put his hand on her elbow and almost dragged
her over to a seat before a computer on the lab bench. He was the most “touchy” Japanese Eleanor had ever met. Or he just
liked pawing her.

The analysis indicated that the little disc seemed to be designed to carry impulses from the robot’s circuitry and convert
them (she was guessing here) into data to be transmitted. A transmitter as well as a receiver. It clung to the circuitry of
the welder like a minute lamprey to a shark.

“Weird, huh?” Nishino beamed at her.

“Sure is.” It was also a neat piece of work. If she could use a similar system to feed sensory input from their Sam robot
onto its own neural networks, they might solve its reaction problems. Without having to work with Akita and his pompous e-mails,
she added to herself.

“It didn’t come from here,” she said. “So it looks like Kawanishi did modify the robot, or somebody did. Which voids its warranty.”

“That’s what I thought. And by the way, the ID tag checked out fine when it left here. We’ve got visual records.”

“Good. I’d like to take a closer look at how this thing works,” Eleanor added, as casually as she could. “Can you keep the
robot here for a while?”

Nishino leaned on the bench so that his thigh touched her shoulder. “It takes up too much space. Can’t you just take the controller?”

And risk damaging it? Eleanor smiled up at him. “You could put it in storage for me. Only for a week or so.”

He made a show of nodding reluctantly. “Okay by me.”

The intercom buzzed. They could see one of the young women who worked in main administration through the clear upper half
of the lab door. Nishino heaved himself off the bench with a grunt and opened the door.

“Good morning, Nishino-san.” The girl inclined her head. “Chief Matsuki would like to see McGuire-san in his office.”

Eleanor smoothed her hair uneasily. Matsuki only sent someone to fetch you, instead of using his high-resolution intercom,
if he was in a bad mood. Nishino managed to pat her on the back as she left and shot her a look of commiseration.

She followed the girl’s slim, blue-uniformed back in silence down the hall, up in the elevator, and across the covered walkway
from the research labs to the main building. She wished she could have changed out of her ancient indoor sneakers and into
outdoor shoes.

When had this kind of peremptory order ceased to annoy her? She remembered, long ago, feeling upset that Japanese bosses never
said “please.” Now, it was simply part of the job.

Chief Matsuki’s office was on the second floor of the main wing of the central building. It occupied the entire width of the
wing and looked out on the main gate and the trees and shrubs between the wings. This was the office to which guests were
always shown first. It had deep carpet, a couple of Japanese landscapes on the walls, and solid oak furniture. Matsuki firmly
believed in the weight of tradition, and that was not found in aluminum fittings.