The Potter of Firsk and Other Stories (37 page)

“That’s odd,” said Allixter to himself, reaching down, tugging at a small metal loop. “A zipper. First one I’ve seen on an off-Earth garment. Now if he was only equipped with something
better
—I could take it back, patent it, make a million—and then when the Chief says, ‘Run this blasted errand, fix that blasted tube, wipe the nose on that starving Mafekinasian,’ I’ll say, ‘Chief, that thousand franks you insult me with every month…’”

He stared at the dead Plag, scrutinized the face, the zipper, and then, pulling his lip back in distaste, searched the body.

There was nothing in the pocket save a pair of small metal objects like keys and a fiber-bound notebook inscribed with green-black ink. In the pouch were a few small hand-tools.

Allixter, whistling softly, found the L-toggle, returned to the repair unit. “Robot.”

“Attending.”

“This inhibitory circuit—was it entirely blown out, totally inoperative?”

“No.”

Allixter waited but the robot, having answered the question, found no reason to expatiate. “I didn’t think so. Any organism with as much power and responsibility as you would need almost as many positive inhibitors as there are possibilities for action. Right?”

“Right.”

“For instance, the inhibitor against killing the natives holds. So does the inhibitor against burning out all your own fuses. And it seems that if you really had a powerful urge you would find little difficulty killing me. In other words the mere exciting of your attention units would not disturb a deep-seated impulse to kill a presumably hostile alien.”

The robot asked, “How many times do you wish the memory banks filled with prime numbers ending in one one one and discharged?”

“Are you getting bored with the problem?”

“Concept incomprehensible.”

“Well—just for the sake of novelty consider each square foot of the planet in turn, compute the chances of a ten-pound meteor plus or minus six ounces striking each of these square feet in the next ten minutes.”

The speaker was silent except for a faint buzzing. Allixter continued with the pattern which was gradually forming in his mind. It was large, it was of such great scope and implication that he found it incredible—at first.

Allixter went back to the corpse, looked in the frozen face once more. He turned toward the speaker. “What sections of the inhibitor are burnt out?”

“Shreds R eight-sixty-six-ninety-two through R nine-eleven-ninety-one.”

“And these refer to the Plags?”

“Yes.”

“To such an extent that in the place of the inhibitor preventing you from harming a Plag or a Plag construction you are now more than likely, if not certain, to destroy everything Plag on the planet?”

“Yes.”

Allixter mused a moment. “Where is the out-leading space-tube?”

“On the north side of this building a door of yellow metal opens into a large warehouse. At the rear of the hall is the terminal.”

“What is the setting for Plagi—Plagi—” Allixter shook his head. “The Plag planet?”

“Phase ten, frequencies nine and three.”

“In what kind of units?”

“In Plag units.”

“Translate these into Earth units.”

“Phase eight-point-four-two, frequencies seven-point-five-eight and two-point-five-three.”

Ha
, thought Allixter. There’d be some surprises—lots of surprises in high places. When they started to pull wool over human eyes, they should have selected someone other than Scotty Allixter. There was still another aspect to be considered. “What are the dial settings for the Earth station?”

The speaker made a series of squeaking sounds.

“Describe the settings in English.”

“Dial one on top—set at the symbol resembling a B on its flat side. Dial two—set at the symbol resembling N inside oval. Dial three—set at symbol consisting of two concentric triangles.”

Allixter searched in his pocket for a convenient piece of paper, brought forth the bubble with the changing colors, put it back, found the notebook, scribbled the information, tucked it back in the pouch.

“Now,” said Allixter, “I’m going to the inhibitor bank. I want to excise the particular inhibitions which are now burnt out entirely and permanently. What is the easiest method?”

“Beside the panel is a series of dials and a plunger. Set the dial correctly, press the plunger. This act erases significance from the shreds.”

“Fine,” said Allixter. “Then when the circuits are repaired, they’ll still be blank?”

“Correct.”

“Excellent.” Allixter went to the dials. “Now tell me how to find the right settings.”

The robot described the symbols, Allixter set dials, punched, set dials, punched, set dials until his wrist ached.

“Now—those inhibitions are permanently erased?”

“Yes.”

“And you’ll destroy every Plag who sets foot on the planet?”

“Machine has no instructions to the contrary. Plags will be obliterated.”

“How do I create new inhibitions?”

“Connect with a vacant shred, voice the order.”

“Connect me with a vacant shred.”

“Contact made.”

“It is forbidden to kill me.”

“Command conflicts with basic order. Command has been held up by monitor circuit.”

Allixter gritted his teeth in vexation. “How the devil can I get home then? As soon as I leave you alone you will take steps to kill me.”

“Problem contains variables without predictability.”

“Thanks for nothing,” said Allixter. “In other words I figure it out for myself. Okay—let’s see. You’re still working that problem I gave you?”

“Yes.”

“How near done are you?”

“Approximately half done.”

“You’re swift.”

“Computation of such material is largely automatic.”

“Hmm.” Allixter rubbed his chin through the air-film. “Contact with a vacant inhibitor shred.”

“Contact made.”

“Do not destroy any installation which will harm the natives or interfere with their livelihood.”

“Instructions noted.”

Allixter hesitated, eyed the mobile repair unit, looked it up and down with a doubtful eye. “If I put this machine back together will it hang that big hammer in place again?”

“Yes.”

Allixter grimaced. “Well—let’s get on with it.”

He replaced the mechanism of the repair unit according to the instructions from the robot, set the facing panels back in position. The mobile unit remained quiet and lifeless. “How do we start her going?” asked Allixter.

“The control box at the back is fitted with a primary switch. Throw it down.”

Allixter hesitated. There were too many unpredictable possibilities. He asked cannily, “What is the first job the repair unit will handle?”

“It will replace the damaged sections in the inhibitor banks.”

“But they’re blank now?”

“Yes.”

“Then what?”

“It will lubricate bearing KB-four-hundred-eight, which is warm, and replace a chafed insulation in the Paradox Resolving System.”

“When will it hang up the hammer?”

“In eighteen-point-nine minutes.”

“Hm,” mused Allixter. “That’s time enough to get me out of this hall but otherwise…Will I be able to set the dial on the transfer tube and leave the planet before some other violent action occurs?”

“Problem contains unpredictable variables.”

Allixter paced back and forth. “If I fix the machine’s attention I’ll get away. If not, I’m executed as an undesirable alien. All robots should have hobbies, something to keep them occupied, out of mischief. Now maybe…” He hesitated. “It’ll cost me money.” He considered carefully. “But what’s a few franks compared to the value of my life?”

He pulled the quartz sphere from his pocket and the little crystalline creature inside glowed, glanced, sparkled in changing colors—hyacinth, rose, sea-green. Allixter set the sphere on the lip of a chin-high molding. “Can you see the little sphere?”

“Yes.”

“You see those colors?”

“Yes.”

“Observe this sphere and those colors. This is to be a hobby for you, to amuse you through the lonely hours of the night. You’re to predict the color next to appear. When you are wrong review your computations and predict once more.”

“Instructions noted.” said the robot.

Allixter touched the smooth quartz ball. “Now, my little jewel, be as erratic as you like. I’ll bet on any free-will tippet of life to beat down and confuse a machine, no matter how complex and how wise. So shine all your pretty colors and shine ’em as wild and clever as you know how.” He flung the switch on the mobile repair unit.

The door was still locked. Allixter burnt it open with his heat torch, stepped out on to the path of stone slats overlooking the hazy gray valley. Overhead burned the myriad suns—colored balls of various flames, near and far in the violet sky.

“North is up here,” said Allixter. “There’s the warehouse and there’s the golden door…”

VI

The depot back at the Hub was quiet when Allixter pushed through the tube. The out-belt carried only a few-score lugs of green-white grapes, a dozen green-painted tanks of oxygen—the lot bound for a mining station on an ore-rich but airless asteroid.

The in-belt was empty and the operator, after letting Allixter through, returned to his magazine.

Allixter ducked past the dispatcher’s office but Schmitz spotted him, slid back the glass panel. “Hey, Scotty,” he bellowed. “Come back here and turn in your report. You think this is Liberty Hall? Aint’cha read the rules?”

Allixter paused, then turned back.

“Here,” said Schmitz, tossing over a yellow form. “Fill ’er out—and after this let’s do it without me riding herd on you. After all, I got my job to handle too. You guys run me ragged, ducking in, ducking out, like a bunch of fillies at a tea-house. Then when they come and ask me who’s been where and who’s done which—”

“Look here, Sam,” said Allixter, “I want to use your phone.”

Schmitz looked up in surprise. “Go ahead, use it. I don’t care. Just so long as you treat me right anything goes. Use my phone, anything. Do like you’re supposed to do, I won’t kick. My God, man! Where’s the Linguaid? The Chief will chew us green and blue if—”

“I left it in the depot.” Allixter thumbed through the directory. He looked up. Schmitz was watching him intently, bright blue eyes gleaming like galvanized washers in the round red face.

Allixter closed the book. “No, I think I’ll wait. Good day to you, Sam Schmitz.”

“
Hey!
” roared Schmitz. “The report!”

“I’ll be back shortly.”

“When’s shortly? Don’t forget, I’m responsible for all this. It’s me who gets reamed when you guys foul off…”

Allixter said in a voice like silk, “Give me fifteen minutes, Sammy old dear. I’ll write you a report you’ll wish you could take home and frame.”

Fifteen minutes passed. Schmitz fidgeted, growled, looked through his assignment sheet. “That damn Allixter, he’s the worst. Them Scotchmen is all crazy, drink too much of that brown smoke they call whiskey. Thank God for beer…Hey now, I believe he’s back.”

The four men with Allixter wore gray uniforms and they looked curiously alike. All were tall, spare of form, controlled of motion. Their faces were uniformly blunt, their eyes sharp and probing, their mouths tight.

“Heaven forbid!” barked Schmitz. “It’s the World Security Intelligence. Now what’s Allixter gone and done?” Automatically he reached for the button to the Chief’s phone.

“
Hold it
, Schmitz!” yelled Allixter. “Leave that phone alone!”

One of the WSI men opened the door into Schmitz’ cubicle, motioned. “I think you’d better come with us.”

Protesting volubly Schmitz followed, hopping and bounding on his short legs to keep pace. The WSI men stood, two on each side of the big green door with the bronze letters. Allixter pushed the button, the door slid back, he entered. The secretary looked up. Allixter said, “Tell the Chief I’m back.”

She hesitantly pushed the button. “Scotty Allixter reporting.”

There was a pause. “Send him in.”

She keyed back the lock, Allixter went to the inner door. Now the WSI men entered the office. One strode to the desk where the secretary had made a swift movement for the speaker controls, caught her arm.

Allixter slid back the door. The air, smelling like a laboratory, wafted in his face. He entered with the WSI platoon at his back.

The Chief, sitting at his desk, his back to the light, stirred a trifle, then sat quiet. “What does this mean?” he asked tonelessly.

The WSI lieutenant said, “You’re under arrest.”

“On what grounds?”

“Grand theft, espionage, illegal entry to begin with. There may be further charges when a complete investigation is made.”