The robot continued to sing “I know something you don’t know!” while spinning on its treads and gesturing with all four arms. “Whattsa matter? You afraid to see what’s down here? Maybe it’s proof of that higher intelligence I’ve been talking about.”

“Higher intelligence indeed,” Iranaputra muttered softly. He considered his watch. It was very late. “Is it far?”

“Not too far, oh no.” The robot turned away from him and continued downward, its motor whining softly. “You’ll see.”

Iranaputra found himself following, albeit reluctantly. “Why can’t you just tell me what is at the end?” But the machine chose not to reply.

With the quiet damnable pride which had served him so well in his professional life egging him on, he followed his mellow mechanical guide into the depths.

“Getting cold,” he commented after a while. The tunnel continued to run straight into the heart of the mountains, smooth-sided and equable in height and width. He’d been walking for a long time. The ambient temperature wasn’t unbearable, but the steady breeze blowing upward chilled his exposed skin. A lifetime of working with steamy warm garbage had left him with a lack of tolerance for cold.

“You are sure you have been to the end of this tunnel?”

“Oh yes.” Ksarusix rolled on cheerfully.

“I am getting tired. Remember that I have to walk out of this under my own power, and that the returning will be all uphill.”

“You can always crawl.”

“That is not an inspiring thought.”

“Don’t worry, you won’t have to. It’s not that much farther. I was just making a joke, having a little fun.”

“Robots are not supposed to have fun.”

“You’re telling me. You never program any fun into us.”

“You do not need to have fun. You are a machine.”

“Spoken like a true organic.”

The breeze strengthened suddenly, then dropped to a whisper as they exited the tunnel. There was no barrier, no bend. The ceiling and walls simply disappeared. Ksarusix’s twin lights faded into distance, failing to illumine walls or ceiling.

“We have come out into a larger cavern,” Iranaputra observed. “Is that what you have brought me all this way to see?” Already he was dreading the long hike back out. “It is big, but I see no formations.” The surface underfoot, he noticed, was different from that in the tunnel. Rougher and less finished. He stumbled over a large chunk of rock and found himself glancing up at the darkness overhead. How stable was the ceiling here? If he injured himself, could he rely on the mentally unstable serving robot to bring help?

“This is far enough. Unless there is something specific you want me to look at, I am going to start back.” He turned toward the tunnel, or where he perceived the tunnel to be. Without the robot’s lights he couldn’t see his hand in front of his face.

“Something specific?” Ksarusix turned toward him, its lights blinding him momentarily. “Well, yes, there is something specific.”

“What?” Iranaputra asked irritably. “Stalactites? Tribal ruins?”

“Not for me to evaluate. That’s not in my programming. I’ll try to show you by intensifying my lights, but I can’t do it for very long. Run down my internal power.”

“Yes, yes, get on with it.” Images of soft beds and clean sheets dominated his thoughts. “Show me something and then we can get out of here.”

“You betcha.”

The twin beams emanating from the robot’s head brightened noticeably, swiveling to the right and inclining slightly upward. Large, dim outlines became visible for the first time. Iranaputra blinked, stared. He stared for as long as his mechanical companion could maintain the increased level of illumination.

“Sorry,” said Ksarusix as it dimmed the lights. “That’s as long as I can keep that up. I don’t wanna get stuck down here either, you know.”

Iranaputra wasn’t listening. He had turned and, locating the tunnel by feeling along the cavern wall for the opening, had begun to run back the way they’d come, heedless of the darkness ahead.

He wasn’t worried about falling. The floor was clear of obstacles. If he tripped over anything, it would be his own feet. Chattering incessantly, the robot followed, its motor humming as it strove to keep pace. It was built for endurance, not speed. But then, so was Iranaputra.

His heart pounded against his chest. He hadn’t had this much exercise in twenty years. It would be ironic if, after having made the descent, he died of a heart attack on the way out. Still, he forced himself to run for at least ten minutes before his well-conditioned but elderly body insisted he recognize reality.

Even then he didn’t halt completely, but kept walking up-slope, gasping for air, his own exhalations loud in the tunnel.

“Told you it’d be interesting, didn’t I?” There was a note of satisfaction in Ksarusix’s artificial voice.

Iranaputra didn’t reply. He was still trying to comprehend, to make sense of what he’d just seen.

“How much more is there?” he wheezed.

“More of what?”

“More of that.”

“Don’t know. Once I get down there, I can only explore so far. Power limitations, remember?”

“So you have no idea of the actual size of the cavern?”

“Hey, I’m a kitchen serve-and-retrieve doohickey. I’m not equipped to estimate spatial dimensions greater than your average hotel dining room.”

“Never mind. We will come back. We will come back with my friends and look further. With extra lights, and replacement power packs for you.”

“Swell! Of course, that contravenes my normal programming.” Iranaputra thought he detected a slight hint of sarcasm. Impossible, of course. Robots were not programmed for sarcasm.

“Supervisor Ibrahim agreed to let me have pretty much of a free hand in trying to ‘repair’ you. I see no problem with you traveling under my supervision.”

“Excellent. This will be fun. Oops, sorry. I’m not supposed to comprehend that. Think of it! I, me, a humble service unit, the one to fulfill the exalted programming. Not some planetary communications nexus, not an astronomical observations satellite, not the O-daiko itself, but me.”

“The O-daiko?”

“Forget it. Slip of the larynx. How’re you doing?”

“I will make it.”

“I’m sure you will. For a decrepit, useless, floundering old parasitic organic you’re not such a bad sort.” It continued to illuminate the way, humming melodically to itself.

Adrenaline helped push Iranaputra up the slope and back through the narrow opening out into the waning night. By the time they reached the Village he was almost too tired to stand. He had to fumble with the combination to his apartment three times before the door clicked open. He glanced fitfully in the direction of the shower, turned, and barely made it to the bed, where he collapsed into a deep, exhausted sleep.

It was nearly noon when he awoke, climbed painfully from the unused sheets, and headed for his wing’s main dining room. It was busy, over a hundred residents presently enjoying lunch. He waved at people he knew, ignoring their stares. The fact that he hadn’t showered and was dirty from crawling into the tunnel surprised those who knew him to be a fastidious individual.

When the weather was nice, he and his close friends preferred to eat outside on the wide porch that overlooked the lake. That was where he found them, chatting and finishing their broiled fish and vegetables. Gelmann saw him first, her expression changing quickly to one of maternal concern.

“You look terrible, Victor. What happened to you? Did you have a bad night?”