Definitely something seriously wrong with its AI controller, Iranaputra mused. Robots were not supposed to equivocate. Maybe Ibrahim ought to replace it.
What was he doing here anyway? Was he that bored? Instead of sitting on the couch in his den watching his favorite evening vidcasts, he found himself standing in some kind of ancient, unmaintained service tunnel listening to a deranged kitchen robot.
“I think maybe it is time for us to go back.”
“Oh, you don’t want to go back now.” Bright lights illuminated Iranaputra’s slight figure, making him blink. “Don’t you wanna see what’s at the end of the cave?”
“I do not know.” He began retreating cautiously. “What is at the end of this tunnel?”
“Oh no. I’m not gonna tell you. You have to see for yourself. I know something you don’t know, nyah-nyah.”
This is crazy, Iranaputra admonished himself as he continued to backpedal. I am no explorer. What am I doing here, in the middle of the night, when nobody knows where I am?
Still, the tunnel intrigued him. He recalled what he knew of Earth’s history, when humanity had been confined to a single world and tribes called nations had engaged in murderous battle over an endless list of trivialities. Some had built land-based missiles with intercontinental range. Hadn’t many of these been sited in shafts in the ground?
He peered past the taunting robot. Was that what the Ksaru had found? An ancient missile launcher, or part of some similar subterranean military complex? If he continued downward, would he eventually find himself staring at the nose of some nuclear-armed rocket, whose control systems had degraded over the centuries from lack of maintenance? Not that his mere presence was likely to cause it to erupt in mindless fury, but there might be other, more volatile chemicals present that could constitute a more immediate danger.
Surely the Ksarusix would have mentioned anything like that. And the longer he thought about it, the more he was sure that the ancient weapons shafts had been dug perpendicular to the surface, whereas the tunnel in which he was standing cut into the earth at a much less extreme angle. His knowledge of such matters was considerably less than encyclopedic. No doubt Follingston-Heath could shed greater light on the matter.
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.
