“You’re programmed to serve. I demand that you serve me.”
“Certainly.” It turned its back to her and extruded a tray containing a steaming, tidily packaged meal. “Tea, coffee, fruit juice, or water?”
“That’s not what I had in mind.”
“No?” The tray slid smoothly back into place as the robot pivoted to face her. “That’s the only kind of ‘service’ my programming commands me to render you.”
Defeated, she stopped following the machine. The corridor was now a high slash of brighter light behind her. “Well, will you at least keep me company?”
“A peculiar request, under the circumstances. Unfortunately it’s also one I am compelled to comply with, even though you are not a registered resident of Lake Woneapenigong Village.” Ksarusix swerved and trundled reluctantly back to her. “I hope this won’t take long.”
“Just long enough for you to guide me back to the other humans.”
“What if I can’t remember the way?”
“I said you were addled; not inoperative.”
“Oh, all right,” the robot confessed crossly. “Let’s get going. The quicker I return you, the sooner I can resume my searching.”
“You don’t have to be so mechanical about it.”
“How else can I be?” The serving robot paused. “Oh. A joke.” Yellow lenses tilted back to gaze up at her. “For a ruthless, cold-blooded infiltrator and assassin you’re not such a bad sort.”
“Thank you.” She looked back toward the distant light of the corridor, confusion and inner torment writ plain on her face. “I’m giving serious consideration to getting into another line of work.”
“Consider robotics. You can aspire to no higher profession.”
“It’s just that these old folks are so damn nice,” she muttered disconsolately as they started toward the portal.
“Odd. I only think of them as demanding.”
“Our perspectives are different. I’m sure a professional psych would say it has something to do with the fact that I lost my mother at an early age and was raised by my father, whom I idolized.”
“Sorry about your mother,” Ksarusix said. “Of course, I’m programmed to express sorrow. But aside from that, I genuinely sympathize. Perhaps if your life had gone differently, you wouldn’t have become the dispirited, indifferent, killing automaton you are today.”
“Thank you for your concern,” she replied drily. “It’s just that there’s no reason to have them killed, no reason at all. I don’t believe in blind devotion to orders.”
“Only insightful devotion to orders.”
“I suppose. You know, for a mere serving robot you’re awfully perceptive.”
Ksarusix led the way. “One has to be when one is assigned to respond to the often irrational and contradictory demands of retired human beings.”
“Help me,” she urged it. “If the five seniors are killed, you’ll probably have your memory wiped and be reprogrammed, or maybe just junked. Don’t you have any personal survival programming?”
“Afraid not. I am, after all, a comparatively low-level mechanical, costly but relatively simple to replace. PSP is a complex and expensive option I have not been equipped with, involving advanced parallel processing and a substantial amount of Ethics ROM.”
“Can’t you make choices?”
“Only on the level of selecting tapioca over vanilla pudding. Ensuring my continued existence is not high on my list of directives. But … I will keep you company.”
“Thank you for that anyway.”
“No need for thanks. I am only complying with my frustrating, damned, irritatingly irrational programming,” it concluded pleasantly.
She stopped, wrinkling her nose. “It stinks in here. Do you notice it?”
“Certainly. As you would expect for a kitchen mechanical, my olfactory circuitry is state-of-the-art. A slightly dampish, moldy odor. Not you, I think.”
She made a face at the robot. “Thanks a heap.”
“Pungent. ‘Stinks’ is not in my work vocabulary. I cannot immediately classify it.”
“Never mind. Pungent or not, I’ve got to rest. Unlike you, my feet get tired.”
“Personally I’ve always considered bipedalism lousy engineering.” Ksarusix expostulated conversationally as Ashili sat down on the thin ceramic ledge which ran around the huge rectangular platform that filled the center of the room. It was topped by an irregular form of uncertain purpose and design, difficult to see in the weak light.
“Thirsty?” There might have been a faint hint of concern in the serving robot’s voice. “Subsequent to long walks, the human system invariably requires replenishment of lost liquids.”
“Maybe in a little while. Right now I just want to sit and think for a few minutes. I’m going to have to improvise some kind of plan. One against four is bad odds, and I know Praxedes. He’s one of those people who’re always more comfortable with force than reason. I don’t want to have to shoot anyone. These people are still my friends and col-, leagues. I just disagree with them on a point of command, that’s all.”
She rose angrily. “Come on. I can’t think in here. Not only does it stink, it’s too humid.” She started for the portal.
A luminous turquoise ellipse came streaking through the opening to halt soundlessly in front of them.
“What happened?” she asked resignedly. “Did my friends force one of the seniors to send you after me?”
“Incorrect. I was not sent here. I was summoned.”
Ashili blinked. “I thought only the five seniors whose presence reactivated you could give you orders?”
“Conditions have altered.”
She thought furiously, then looked up, eyes wide. “One of them’s here.” She found herself peering anxiously past the blue ellipse. “One of them managed to escape and make his way here. Probably had you guide him. Who is it? Heath?” If anyone could slip away, it would be the retired military man, she decided.
“No. None of the individuals to whom you allude is present.”
Her confusion grew. “Did you come after me on your own? Is that part of your programming?”
“I have not come after you.”
“Then what in the name of Omolu are you doing here?”
An answer of sorts came in the form of a grinding, rumbling noise from above. Ashili whirled to gaze upward.
The large, irregular form atop the monolithic platform was stirring.
“I suggest you depart if you desire to preserve your puny life,” the Autothor declared solemnly.
