“Several more enclosed structures are visible,” it resumed. “All are solidly-built, some with complicated shapes and many projections which badly needed that streamlined outer hull. They appear to be joined to each other by a latticework of structural-support members. All of the ones we can see are linked together externally by short stretches of open-weave corridors like this one. But our point of entry, which may not be the only one, was by a simple, close-fitting, hinged cover that appears to allow access deep into the entire ship. It was not a pressurized seal, and nowhere can we see anything like an airlock.
“But then,” the captain added, allowing itself a small bark, 'a crew of intelligent robots wouldn’t need air.
“There is no obvious threat here at present,” it went on, “so I shall continue the investigation deeper inside the ship. In case of unforeseen developments, Doctor, would you like to remain here so that you can make a fast getaway?”
Prilicla was silent for a moment while common sense and 18 evolutionary imperative of survival through cowardice warred with the intensity of his curiosity, and lost.
“I would like to remain here,” he said, “but I won’t. Lead the way.”
The captain didn’t reply but its feelings regarding such stu-P «i behavior were very plain.
Slowly and carefully and with many pauses while Fletcher directed its vision pickup at objects that might or might not be of importance, they continued to move inboard while Fletcher described everything it saw and deduced in its flat, unemotional, observer’s voice.
Their helmet lights showed many cable looms running along the members that joined the large and small structures and mechanisms that were coming into view. Some of the cable runs were attached to the outer framework of the passages they were traversing, and clearly visible. The individual lengths were color-coded, their graduation in coloration and shading suggesting that the visual sensitivity of the ship’s crew was slightly higher than that of Prilicla’s Earth-human companion, but lower than his own. When they drew level with a large, blocky mechanism of indeterminate purpose with what was obviously a control panel and two access hatches on it, the captain’s curiosity became so intense that Prilicla felt obliged to issue a warning.
“No, friend Fletcher,” he said. “Look but don’t touch.”
“I know, I know,” it replied with a flash of irritation. “But how else can I find out what it is and does? I can’t believe that these people — robots or whatever — would plant a virus to booby-trap every internal control panel and hatch. That wouldn’t make sense. It would lead to a lot of unnecessary accidents among the crew.”
“The robot crew,” said Prilicla, “should be resistant to their ship’s computer viruses.”
“Good point,” said the captain. “But so far there has been no sign of them. Are they in their quarters? If so, what would the accommodations for a crew of robots look like?”
It didn’t speak again until they came to the next intersection, a T-junction leading into a passageway that led fore and aft to the limit of visibility provided by their helmet lights. The support frames carried what seemed like hundreds of differently-coded cable runs and the new passageway was obviously a main trunk route for crew members, but it was no wider or deeper then any of the others they had encountered.
That suggested infrequent traffic, Prilicla thought, or a small crew.
“We have to find out what this ship can do,” said the captain suddenly, “apart from simply killing other ships. For our own defense we must learn and understand its weapons capability and, if possible, that of its attacker. Next time I’ll bring something more intelligent than a screwdriver. A radiation sensor, perhaps, that will work without being in direct contact with the target object—”
“Friend Fletcher,” Prilicla broke in, “would you please be silent and absolutely still?”
The captain opened its mouth and shut it again without speaking. As it waited motionless, the curiosity, puzzlement, and increasing anxiety it was radiating hung about it like a thick fog.
“You may relax, friend Fletcher, at least for a few minutes,” said Prilicla finally, directing his helmet light forward. “I thought I detected vibration in the corridor netting that was not being made by us, and I was right. Something is moving aft towards us. It is not yet visible. Shall we withdraw, I hope?”
“I want a look at it first,” said the captain. “But stay behind me in case hostilities break out. Better still, you head back to Rhabwar, now.”
The calm, controlled expectancy with a minimum of fear that was being radiated by the other compared very favorably with Prilicla’s own cowardly feelings. He moved a few meters behind the captain but no farther.
In the netting around them the vibration increased, and suddenly it was within range of their helmet lights, a flattened, ovoid shape that moved like an enormous blob of animated quicksilver. The digits of the six short appendages spaced equally around its body were grasping the netting expertly and using it to pull the creature rapidly towards them, but at a distance of ten meters or so it slowed to a stop. Obviously it was watching them.
“Friend Fletcher,” Prilicla said anxiously, “don’t open your satchel — a tool could be mistaken for a weapon — or make any movements that might seem threatening.”
“I know the first-contact procedures, Doctor,” said the captain irritably. Slowly it released its hold on the netting and extended its two empty hands palms-outward.
A subjective eternity passed that must have lasted all of ten seconds without a response from the alien. Then its body rotated slowly through ninety degrees until the back or underside was directly facing them. Its six tiny hands were tightly gripping the netting all around it.
“It doesn’t seem to be armed and its action isn’t overtly hostile,” said the captain, glancing backwards over its shoulder, “and plainly it doesn’t want us to go any farther. But what can the rest of the crew be doing? Moving to cut off our retreat?”
“No, friend Fletcher,” said Prilicla in gentle disagreement. “I have a feeling that…”
“Doctor,” the other broke in incredulously, “are you saying that you’re detecting feelings from this, this robot?”
“Again, no,” he replied, less gently. “It is what you would call a hunch, or a guess, based on observation. I have the feeling that we are meeting half of the ship’s crew and that we met the damaged other half on Terragar. There are small differences in size and body configuration which lead me to think that the damaged specimen was the male and this one is the female equivalent…”
“Wait, wait,” the captain broke in again, its emotional radiation a confusion of surprise and disbelief with a flash of the unsubtle humor associated with the cruder aspects of reproduction. It went on: “Are you saying that the design of these robots is so sophisticated that they have the means to reproduce sexually? That would imply the implantation of a metallic sperm equivalent and an exchange of non-organic DNA and… It’s ridiculous! I just can’t believe that robots, even highly intelligent robots, would need a sexual act to reproduce their kind, and I didn’t see anything resembling sex organs on either of them.”
“Nor did I,” said Prilicla. “As I’ve already told you, it was a simple matter of differences in body mass and configuration. This one appears to be slimmer and more graceful. But now I would like you to do something for me, friend Fletcher. Several things, in fact.”
The other’s emotional radiation was settling down but it didn’t speak.
“First,” Prilicla went on, “I want you to move forward, slowly, until you’ve closed to half the present distance from the robot, and observe its reaction.”