The Potter of Firsk and Other Stories (36 page)

“When repair machine directs world-wide installations which collect energy from the suns, apply this energy to the designated uses.”

“Which are?”

“Machine mines ore, smelts, refines ore, alloys and shapes metal parts, manages photo-synthetic tanks producing fluoro-silicon and fluoro-carbon compounds, combines and fabricates items in Classification Zo, Schedules Ba-Nineteen through Pec-Twenty-five. When complete, products are delivered to the master-planet Plagigonstok through the transfer.”

Allixter found a hint of enlightenment in the explanation. “I understand then that this planet is a colony of another world? Plagi—Plagi—something or other?And the natives, where do they fit in?”

“The natives supply what unskilled and flexible labor may be necessary. They are paid in commodities.”

Allixter glanced at the corpse. “Where are all the—what do you call them?”

“Question is inexact.”

“What kind of man is that dead creature on the floor—what race?”

“He is a Plag, a Lord of the Universe.”

Allixter snorted. “Are there any others nearby?”

“There are twelve similar in condition to this one.”

A small chill ran along Allixter’s neck. “What do you mean—similar condition?”

“Bodily functions disrupted by disorganization of mental centers.”

“Dead?”

“Dead.”

“You killed them?”

“Protective instruments killed them.”

“Why?”

“Inhibitor circuit is not functioning. Machine is fundamentally ordered not to kill Plags. This order is occluded. Now machine kills Plags freely without inhibition and destroys Plag installations at random.”

“Then why don’t you kill the natives?”

“Inhibitors concerning autochthones are still in place. Machine protects autochthones. Machine kills alien life-forms who enter this room, the mental center of the machine. You survive only by accident—attention units, draining from B-sub C monitor, shunt out exterminators.”

Allixter grimaced. “There’s a serious oversight somewhere.”

The machine was silent. Allixter waited for a reply. One second—two seconds—he realized with a prickle of urgency that the machine responded only to questions, that the circuits were not set up to exchange small-talk with casual passers-by.

He blurted, “Yes. No. I’ve seen robots and calculating machines and automatic mechanisms but I’ve never seen anything like you. You’re a pretty big piece of machinery—er, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

One second—two seconds. Allixter’s mind was blank.

“Ah—the Plags built all this machinery?”

“The Plags organized the nucleus, consisting of planning, engineering, mechanical, energy and operating segments, delineated the ultimate ends desired. Subsidiary elements were conceived by the planning segment, designed by the engineering segment, constructed in the central factory. The entire planet is now noded with various agencies which the planning segment considers useful.”

“Why all the blasting? The exploding buildings, the hillsides spitting out fire?”

“Installations benefiting Plags are being destroyed. Destructive agencies exist. Inhibitors formerly restrained them. Now inhibitors are cut out. Destructive agencies go into effect at random.”

Allixter grinned. “The Plags won’t like this—will they?”

“Accurate information unavailable.”

“How will the Plags fix the machine?”

“No information. As soon as Plags arrive, they are killed.”

“How come the natives were waiting for me at the in-curtain?”

“Precise information unavailable. Possibility exists that they dispatched message to Plagigonstok requesting service crew, and awaited reply.”

“Ah!” Allixter nodded sagely. “How long has the machine been out of order? And why did not the Plag service man repair it at once before it went out?”

“When machine is in disrepair the maintenance unit moves along tracks to the rupture and makes the necessary renewals. The service mechanic never repairs the machine. It is too complex. In this case the maintenance unit was out of order and the mechanic was occupied in repairing it. Then the inhibitor circuit fused. The fundamental orders went into effect and the exterminators killed the Plag.”

Allixter sighed. Then, remembering that sighs occupied time, he said, “How can I extend this three-second time limit? I can’t stand here forever asking you questions.”

“You can supply problems to occupy the attention units or better you can repair either the inhibitor circuit or the maintenance units.”

“And while I’m working, you kill me?”

“Yes.”

“Why does a chicken cross a road?”

“Presumably the motivations and restraints in reference to the prospective action settle into an equilibrium which prompts the motion rather than the stasis.”

“When do two and two make three?”

The voice said, “Attention bank will be occupied with the problem for six minutes. This is the time necessary to explore all possible conditions in all the various regimens of mathematics built into my nucleus.”

Allixter glanced at his watch. “Good. I’ll have time to think up some corkers in the meantime.”

He relaxed, dented the film of his head-bubble to rub at his forehead. Six minutes—would he ever sleep again? And the old life back on Earth! With longing and nostalgia he thought of Buck’s Bar at the Hub, the familiar faces around the walnut oval, the big glass steins foaming over the top…

He brought himself back to the present. Apparently his future would be occupied in entertaining this planetary robot in puzzles, riddles and mathematical recreations. At least, thought Allixter with a sour grin, he knew how to tie it up for more than three seconds. The thing to do was to get to the source, repair the machine. What the devil was wrong with it? The inhibitor circuit? The maintenance unit? Both out—a sorry situation. The repair system exists to keep the machinery operating but there was nothing to repair the repair system.

He sauntered across the floor, examined the interior where the side panel had been removed. Complexity upon complexity, unfamiliar shapes, conductors and leads, rank on rank. There’d be a month’s work merely tracing down a corner of the mechanism.

He picked up one of the tools. My word, thought Allixter, there’s some fine equipment here. Now if I could patent this little pocket winch, I’d make myself a cool million. And what’s this? It’s a saw, by golly. I’d never have believed it…Why I could poke this arm a yard into nowhere and the teeth would slice through hard alloy. Clever, these Plags.

But this conductor appliance, we’ve got the same thing on Earth. Same design, identical—strange. One of those odd coincidences you notice when you run back and forth world to world…My Lord, the time. He looked at his watch. Five seconds.

But he was in no immediate danger. The robot had much to report. “Filed under solubility indices there exists a number of situations where two units of one substance and two units of another substance, mixed, result in three units of an end substance. These are not rigorous cases and may be dismissed. However in the case of…” The voice droned into mathematical terminology which meant nothing to Allixter.

He listened five minutes but the flow of symbology showed no signs of coming to an end. Attending with half an ear he paced back and forth, examining the hall. The red tiles of the floor were of a rubbery substance, laid with microscopic precision.

Allixter hacked out a sliver with his knife, dropped it in his pouch. There’d be a fortune in it, back on Earth—rubber to resist fluorine. His fingers hit a hard round object, an unfamiliar shape. He drew it out.

Ah, the little sea-crystal which shone with such intriguing shafts of radiance. Only twenty-four hours before he had picked this little ball off the beach of—what was that planet?—and now…Allixter grinned sourly. A thousand franks a month to nurse lunatic robots to sanity, to wander a strange gray planet, looking for the tube back to Earth. It might be underfoot, it might be ten thousand miles north, east, south, west.

He noticed the door. It hung a trifle ajar. He walked forward to open it. If things got rough he could retreat. The door moved.
Click!

Allixter cursed. Deceitful little devils! There was silence in the hall. He became aware that the voice had ceased. In its place sounded a sharp hissing.

He twisted anxiously. “What’s going on?”

His own voice from the speaker said, “Protective system has been engaged. You are being smothered by an atmosphere of pure nitrogen.”

“I see,” said Allixter. He gingerly felt the surface of his air-film. “I don’t care to be killed. Maybe we had better concentrate on—”

An explosion shook the machinery, jarred him from head to foot. Outside he heard the anguished squeaks of the indigenes. “Good God, what’s that?”

“The scavenging and rural simplification program, uninhibited by safety precautions, is leveling useless relics of past operations. A great number of fabricating and—” the voice whirred and gurgled. “No word on file for concept. Plag industrial plants are being destroyed. There is no order on file to contravene demolition—”

Allixter said hastily, “For God’s sake, don’t wreck the space-tube. That’s how I get home!”

“Orders placed in appropriate file,” said the dry voice.

“We’d better get your inhibiting circuit back in order before—” A staccato burst of explosions like the discharge of a string of firecrackers cut him off short. Allixter continued shakily, “I was going to say, before you do any real harm.”

V

Allixter asked, “What’s the fastest way that circuit can be put back in working condition?”

The robot said, “The maintenance unit is designed to adjust, tune, lubricate and replace the worn parts of the circuit in four-point-three-six minutes. A Plag mechanic can perform the same routine in twenty-six hours.”

Allixter scowled at the mobile repair unit. “What’s the best way to get the repair machine going?”

“No data on extent of damage.”

Allixter said sarcastically, “You’re a fine robot—don’t even know what’s going on in front of your nose.”

Was there a trace of near-human tartness in the reply? “Machine’s optical system cannot penetrate opaque panel.”

“Whereabouts on the track can you see?”

“Radian two-point-six-seven, as indicated in white characters, is optimum.”

Allixter sniffed. “I can’t read those characters. They’re in Plag writing.”

“Information filed appropriately,” came the toneless acknowledgment.

Allixter said, “I’ll move the unit—tell me when you can see. In the meantime,” he said thoughtfully, “you can compile a list of prime numbers ending in the digits seven-nine-seven.”

The speaker made a bleating sound which once more seemed to carry near-human overtones. Allixter set his shoulder to the mobile unit.

It moved slowly around the track. At last the speaker said, “Optimum.” Then, “The list of the first hundred prime numbers ending in the digits is as follows—”

“File them,” said Allixter, “Give your attention to this machine. And don’t try to kill me while I’m busy. Do you agree to that?”

The toneless voice said, “Protective mechanism acts independently.”

“Okay,” said Allixter. “You seem to be interested in mathematics. Suppose you make a list of prime numbers which when multiplied by the prime numbers immediately before and after, and the product taken to the sixth power, divided by seven and the remainder dropped, yield a prime number ending in the digits one-one-one.”

The speaker stuttered, rumbled.

“These calculations will be performed,” said Allixter, “when your attention is not given to the repair job. Now, what’s first?”

“Remove panels from both sides.”

Allixter obeyed.

“Unclip copper band from half-inch stud, pull pin from cam shaft, cut welding away from bearing clamp…”

The machine was well-lubricated, well-engineered. After a half-hour’s work Allixter discovered the cause of the breakdown—an L-toggle which had failed at the joint.

“Spring back double spirals with tool in corner of tray. Grip shaft with clamp, turn ninety degrees—prongs will separate, releasing ruptured part.”

Allixter did as he was bid and the offending part came loose.

“Material is all standardized,” said the machine. “Spare toggle will be found in third locker at opposite end of hall.”

“Keep busy on that little list of numbers while I’m getting the bearing,” said Allixter.

“Memory banks have capacity for eight billion digits,” announced the robot. “Bank is half-full now.”

“When the unit is full, discharge it and start over.”

“Instructions filed.”

Allixter crossed the floor, passed the crumpled body of the Plag. In sudden curiosity, he turned it over with his foot, looked down the front. It was definitely human in all the primary characteristics, though the nose and chin were long and gnarled, the skin a peculiar plucked-chicken yellow, the hair like steel-wool. The creature wore a garment of dark green velvet, lustrous and rich where the light struck fair.