B-12's Moon Glow, Page 3
Charles A. Stearns
somehow.
I kept in the shadows of the shabby buildings of Argon City, and Ifound the window without effort. The place where I had spied upon thewife of Langley to my sorrow the other night. There was no one there;there was darkness within, but that did not deter me.
Within the airdrome which covers Argon City the buildings are looselyconstructed, even as they are on Earth. I had no trouble, therefore,opening the window. I swung a leg up and was presently within thedarkened room. I found the door I sought and entered cautiously. Inthis adjacent compartment I made a thorough search but I did not findwhat I primarily sought--namely the elusive reason for Langley's visitto Phobos. It was in a metallic overnight bag that I did findsomething else which made my power pack hum so loudly that I wasafraid of being heard. The thing which explained the strangeness ofthe pompous Senator's attitude today--which explained, in short, manythings, and caused my brain to race with new ideas.
I put the thing in my chest container, and left as stealthily as I hadcome. There had been progress, but since I had not found what I hopedto find, I must now try my alternate plan.
Two hours later I found the one I sought, and made sure that I wasseen by him. Then I left Argon City by the South lock, furtively, as athief, always glancing over my shoulder, and when I made certain thatI was being followed, I went swiftly, and it was not long before I wasclambering over the first heaps of debris at the edge of the Dumps.
Once I thought I heard footsteps behind me, but when I looked backthere was no one in sight. Just the tiny disk of Deimos peering overthe sharp peak of the nearest ridge, the black velvet sky outliningthe curvature of this airless moon.
Presently I was in sight of home, the time-eaten hull of an ancientstar freighter resting near the top of a heap of junked equipment fromsome old strip mining operation. It would never rise again, but itsshell remained strong enough to shelter my distillery and scantfurnishings from any chance meteorite that might fall.
I greeted it with the usual warmth of feeling which one has for thesafe and the familiar. I stumbled over tin fuel cans, wires and othertangled metal in my haste to get there.
It was just as I had left it. The heating element under the network ofcoils and pressure chambers still glowed with white heat, and the MoonGlow was dripping with musical sound into the retort.
I felt good. No one ever bothered me here. This was my fortress, withall that I cared for inside. My tools, my work, my micro-library. Andyet I had deliberately--
Something--a heavy foot--clanked upon the first step of the manportthrough which I had entered.
I turned quickly. The form shimmered in the pale Deimoslight thatsilhouetted it.
MS-33.
He had followed me here.
"What do you want?" I said. "What are you doing here?"
"A simple question," said MS-33. "Tonight you looked very suspiciouswhen you left Argon City. I saw you and followed you here. You may aswell know that I have never trusted you. All the old ones wereunreliable. That is why you were replaced."
He came in, boldly, without being invited, and looked around. Idetected a sneer in his voice as he said, "So this is where you hide."
"I do not hide. I live here, it is true."
"A robot does not live. A robot exists. We newer models do not requireshelter like an animal. We are rust-proof and invulnerable." He strodeover to my micro-library, several racks of carefully arranged spools,and fingered them irreverently. "What is this?"
"My library."
"So! _Our_ memories are built into us. We have no need to refreshthem."
"So is mine," I said. "But I would learn more than I know." I wasstalling for time, waiting until he made the right opening.
"Nonsense," he said. "I know why you stay out here in the Dumps,masterless. I have heard of the forbidden drug that is sold in themining camps such as Argon City. Is this the mechanism?" He pointed atthe still.
Now was the time. I mustered all my cunning, but I could not speak.Not yet.
"Never mind," he said. "I can see that it is. I shall report you, ofcourse. It will give me great pleasure to see you dismantled. Not thatit really matters, of course--now."
_There it was again. The same frightening allusion that Langley hadmade today._ I must succeed!
* * * * *
I knew that MS-33, for all his brilliance, and newness, and vauntedsuperiority, was only a Secretarial. For the age of specialism wasupon Earth, and General Purpose models were no longer made. That waswhy we were different here on Phobos. It was why we had survived. Theold ones had given us something special which the new metal people didnot have. Moreover, MS-33 had his weakness. He was larger, stronger,faster than me, but I doubted that he could be devious.
"You are right," I said, pretending resignation. "This is mydistillery. It is where I make the fluid which is called Moon Glow bythe metal people of Phobos. Doubtless you are interested in learninghow it works."
"Not even remotely interested," he said. "I am interested only intaking you back and turning you over to the authorities."
"It works much like the conventional distilling plants of Earth," Isaid, "except that the basic ingredient, a silicon compound, isirradiated as it passes through zirconium tubes to the heating pile,where it is activated and broken down into the droplets of the elixircalled Moon Glow. You see the golden drops falling there.
"It has the excellent flavor of fine petroleum, as I make it. Perhapsyou'd care to taste it. Then you could understand that it is notreally bad at all. Perhaps you could persuade yourself to be morelenient with me."
"Certainly not," said MS-33.
"Perhaps you are right," I said after a moment of reflection. I took asyringe, drew up several drops of the stuff and squirted it into mycarapace, where it would do the most good. I felt much better.
"Yes," I continued, "certainly you are quite correct, now that I thinkof it. You newer models would never bear it. You weren't built tostand such things. Nor, for that matter, could you comprehend theexquisite joys that are derived from Moon Glow. Not only would youderive no pleasure from it, but it would corrode your parts, Iimagine, until you could scarcely crawl back to your master forrepairs." I helped myself to another liberal portion.
"That is the silliest thing I've ever heard," he said.
"What?"
"I said, it's silly. We are constructed to withstand a hundred timesgreater stress, and twice as many chemical actions as you were.Nothing could hurt us. Besides, it looks harmless enough. I doubt thatit is hardly anything at all."
"For me it is not," I admitted. "But you--"
"Give me the syringe, fool!"
"I dare not."
"Give it here!"
I allowed him to wrest it from my grasp. In any case I could not haveprevented him. He shoved me backwards against the rusty bulkhead witha clang. He pushed the nozzle of the syringe down into the retort andwithdrew it filled with Moon Glow. He opened an inspection plate inhis ventral region and squirted himself generously.
It was quite a dose. He waited for a moment. "I feel nothing," he saidfinally. "I do not believe it is anything more than common lubricatingoil." He was silent for another moment. "There _is_ an ease ofmovement," he said.
"No paralysis?" I asked.
"Paral--? You stupid, rusty old robot!" He helped himself to anothersyringeful of Moon Glow. The stuff brought twenty credits an ounce,but I did not begrudge it him.
He flexed his superbly articulated joints in three directions, and Icould hear his power unit building up within him to a whining pitch.He took a shuffling sidestep, and then another, gazing down at hisfeet, with arms akimbo.
"The light gravity here is superb, superb, superb, superb, superb," hesaid, skipping a bit.
"Isn't it?" I said.
"Almost negligible," he said.
"True."
"You have been very kind to me," MS-33 said. "Extremely,extraordinarily, incomparably, incalculably kind." He used up all theadjectives in his memory
pack. "I wonder if you would mind awfullymuch if--"
"Not at all," I said. "Help yourself. By the way, friend, would youmind telling me what your real mission of your party is here onPhobos. The Senator forgot to say."
"Secret," he said. "Horribly top secret. As a dutiful subject--I meanservant--of Earth, I could not, of course, divulge it to anyone. If Icould--" his neon eyes glistened, "if I could, you would, of course,be the first to know. The very first." He threw one nickel-plated armabout my shoulder.
"I see," I said, "and just what is it that you are not allowed to tellme?"
"Why, that we are making a preliminary survey here on Phobos, ofcourse, to determine whether
I kept in the shadows of the shabby buildings of Argon City, and Ifound the window without effort. The place where I had spied upon thewife of Langley to my sorrow the other night. There was no one there;there was darkness within, but that did not deter me.
Within the airdrome which covers Argon City the buildings are looselyconstructed, even as they are on Earth. I had no trouble, therefore,opening the window. I swung a leg up and was presently within thedarkened room. I found the door I sought and entered cautiously. Inthis adjacent compartment I made a thorough search but I did not findwhat I primarily sought--namely the elusive reason for Langley's visitto Phobos. It was in a metallic overnight bag that I did findsomething else which made my power pack hum so loudly that I wasafraid of being heard. The thing which explained the strangeness ofthe pompous Senator's attitude today--which explained, in short, manythings, and caused my brain to race with new ideas.
I put the thing in my chest container, and left as stealthily as I hadcome. There had been progress, but since I had not found what I hopedto find, I must now try my alternate plan.
Two hours later I found the one I sought, and made sure that I wasseen by him. Then I left Argon City by the South lock, furtively, as athief, always glancing over my shoulder, and when I made certain thatI was being followed, I went swiftly, and it was not long before I wasclambering over the first heaps of debris at the edge of the Dumps.
Once I thought I heard footsteps behind me, but when I looked backthere was no one in sight. Just the tiny disk of Deimos peering overthe sharp peak of the nearest ridge, the black velvet sky outliningthe curvature of this airless moon.
Presently I was in sight of home, the time-eaten hull of an ancientstar freighter resting near the top of a heap of junked equipment fromsome old strip mining operation. It would never rise again, but itsshell remained strong enough to shelter my distillery and scantfurnishings from any chance meteorite that might fall.
I greeted it with the usual warmth of feeling which one has for thesafe and the familiar. I stumbled over tin fuel cans, wires and othertangled metal in my haste to get there.
It was just as I had left it. The heating element under the network ofcoils and pressure chambers still glowed with white heat, and the MoonGlow was dripping with musical sound into the retort.
I felt good. No one ever bothered me here. This was my fortress, withall that I cared for inside. My tools, my work, my micro-library. Andyet I had deliberately--
Something--a heavy foot--clanked upon the first step of the manportthrough which I had entered.
I turned quickly. The form shimmered in the pale Deimoslight thatsilhouetted it.
MS-33.
He had followed me here.
"What do you want?" I said. "What are you doing here?"
"A simple question," said MS-33. "Tonight you looked very suspiciouswhen you left Argon City. I saw you and followed you here. You may aswell know that I have never trusted you. All the old ones wereunreliable. That is why you were replaced."
He came in, boldly, without being invited, and looked around. Idetected a sneer in his voice as he said, "So this is where you hide."
"I do not hide. I live here, it is true."
"A robot does not live. A robot exists. We newer models do not requireshelter like an animal. We are rust-proof and invulnerable." He strodeover to my micro-library, several racks of carefully arranged spools,and fingered them irreverently. "What is this?"
"My library."
"So! _Our_ memories are built into us. We have no need to refreshthem."
"So is mine," I said. "But I would learn more than I know." I wasstalling for time, waiting until he made the right opening.
"Nonsense," he said. "I know why you stay out here in the Dumps,masterless. I have heard of the forbidden drug that is sold in themining camps such as Argon City. Is this the mechanism?" He pointed atthe still.
Now was the time. I mustered all my cunning, but I could not speak.Not yet.
"Never mind," he said. "I can see that it is. I shall report you, ofcourse. It will give me great pleasure to see you dismantled. Not thatit really matters, of course--now."
_There it was again. The same frightening allusion that Langley hadmade today._ I must succeed!
* * * * *
I knew that MS-33, for all his brilliance, and newness, and vauntedsuperiority, was only a Secretarial. For the age of specialism wasupon Earth, and General Purpose models were no longer made. That waswhy we were different here on Phobos. It was why we had survived. Theold ones had given us something special which the new metal people didnot have. Moreover, MS-33 had his weakness. He was larger, stronger,faster than me, but I doubted that he could be devious.
"You are right," I said, pretending resignation. "This is mydistillery. It is where I make the fluid which is called Moon Glow bythe metal people of Phobos. Doubtless you are interested in learninghow it works."
"Not even remotely interested," he said. "I am interested only intaking you back and turning you over to the authorities."
"It works much like the conventional distilling plants of Earth," Isaid, "except that the basic ingredient, a silicon compound, isirradiated as it passes through zirconium tubes to the heating pile,where it is activated and broken down into the droplets of the elixircalled Moon Glow. You see the golden drops falling there.
"It has the excellent flavor of fine petroleum, as I make it. Perhapsyou'd care to taste it. Then you could understand that it is notreally bad at all. Perhaps you could persuade yourself to be morelenient with me."
"Certainly not," said MS-33.
"Perhaps you are right," I said after a moment of reflection. I took asyringe, drew up several drops of the stuff and squirted it into mycarapace, where it would do the most good. I felt much better.
"Yes," I continued, "certainly you are quite correct, now that I thinkof it. You newer models would never bear it. You weren't built tostand such things. Nor, for that matter, could you comprehend theexquisite joys that are derived from Moon Glow. Not only would youderive no pleasure from it, but it would corrode your parts, Iimagine, until you could scarcely crawl back to your master forrepairs." I helped myself to another liberal portion.
"That is the silliest thing I've ever heard," he said.
"What?"
"I said, it's silly. We are constructed to withstand a hundred timesgreater stress, and twice as many chemical actions as you were.Nothing could hurt us. Besides, it looks harmless enough. I doubt thatit is hardly anything at all."
"For me it is not," I admitted. "But you--"
"Give me the syringe, fool!"
"I dare not."
"Give it here!"
I allowed him to wrest it from my grasp. In any case I could not haveprevented him. He shoved me backwards against the rusty bulkhead witha clang. He pushed the nozzle of the syringe down into the retort andwithdrew it filled with Moon Glow. He opened an inspection plate inhis ventral region and squirted himself generously.
It was quite a dose. He waited for a moment. "I feel nothing," he saidfinally. "I do not believe it is anything more than common lubricatingoil." He was silent for another moment. "There _is_ an ease ofmovement," he said.
"No paralysis?" I asked.
"Paral--? You stupid, rusty old robot!" He helped himself to anothersyringeful of Moon Glow. The stuff brought twenty credits an ounce,but I did not begrudge it him.
He flexed his superbly articulated joints in three directions, and Icould hear his power unit building up within him to a whining pitch.He took a shuffling sidestep, and then another, gazing down at hisfeet, with arms akimbo.
"The light gravity here is superb, superb, superb, superb, superb," hesaid, skipping a bit.
"Isn't it?" I said.
"Almost negligible," he said.
"True."
"You have been very kind to me," MS-33 said. "Extremely,extraordinarily, incomparably, incalculably kind." He used up all theadjectives in his memory
pack. "I wonder if you would mind awfullymuch if--"
"Not at all," I said. "Help yourself. By the way, friend, would youmind telling me what your real mission of your party is here onPhobos. The Senator forgot to say."
"Secret," he said. "Horribly top secret. As a dutiful subject--I meanservant--of Earth, I could not, of course, divulge it to anyone. If Icould--" his neon eyes glistened, "if I could, you would, of course,be the first to know. The very first." He threw one nickel-plated armabout my shoulder.
"I see," I said, "and just what is it that you are not allowed to tellme?"
"Why, that we are making a preliminary survey here on Phobos, ofcourse, to determine whether
