"Just like Gale."
"Just like Gale," she agreed.
"You said that if there was anything I wanted of you, to ask."
"Should I change back to Gale's form?"
"Negation."
"I can survive without the suit, but if I let the air out, I will not be able to talk to you."
"Retain the suit. It is the expression of interest I desire."
"From Shee?"
"From either."
"Come here, Sphere." She spread her suited arms.
He rolled into her. She held him in her embrace and kissed the contact between her faceplate and his surface. "Satisfaction," he said. "You tried to save me at your own expense, when you knew," she said. "This sort of thing impresses a girl."
"Welcome."
"I think we are becoming friends despite our differences."
"Concurrence."
"When we are safely clear of this, we can be naked together, again."
"Delight."
She lifted her head. "The paths are coalescing. Now I can modify the admission program. Give me the codes."
He did, and she did. Then they walked back along the tunnel to an intersection, and followed that around to the main entrance. The portal opened and they went through. The portal machine did not seem to notice that they were not standard servitors; it was not at that level of sophistication.
She set the fuel package on the counter reserved for it. They had done their nominal chore. Then they moved on into the interior of the Citadel unopposed.
"There are no Makers here," she said as she extended her awareness.
"Disappointment."
"Relief."
"We had better leave."
There was a faint beep.
"Mischief," Sphere said. "That was a random check. They have discovered intruders."
"Then we had better hurry."
But it was already too late. Her near future seeing verified that an obscure path she had overlooked—the random check—had abruptly taken form, and all other paths were damped out. They were trapped.
"You are legitimate," she said. "You can remain here."
"Negation. I am not in my assignment area. I will be rendered surplus."
"Then we both need to escape."
"You must escape. With the failure of my mission, I am irrelevant."
"Both," she repeated firmly. "I need you to pilot the ship out of here."
"Copy the method from my data bank."
"Don't argue with me, machine! We are both getting out of here." She realized as she spoke that she was not being completely rational. Was it because she was female, or a Glamor? Had her empathy circuit distorted her objectivity? Or had she developed an attachment to her companion?
"What is the time frame?"
"Perhaps an hour. My future sensing is imperfect because my machine far-future seeing wars with my Glamor near-future seeing. We need to get out of here within that time."
"You can diffuse. I can not. Can you conjure us to the ship?"
"My awareness of the two sites is not sufficient. The attempt would be dangerous. Any other suggestion?"
"I am not an original thinker."
Because he was a straight machine, albeit a sentient and sapient one. He could choose between routine alternatives, but was not creative. She would have to figure this out herself. She focused, and got it. "This place is pressurized and supplied with food for the Makers. It must also have a waste disposal system, for their refuse."
"Accuracy."
"We'll take you apart and flush you down the toilet, as it were, piece by piece. That will get you out of here. They won't check the garbage. Then I will diffuse and rejoin you, in both senses, in the dump."
"The refuse would be recycled."
"But there must be a holding area for it, to let it collect until there's a sufficient load. It's not efficient to process it piece by piece."
"Correct."
"That's where I'll intercept you. But this will require a considerable exercise of trust on your part. Do you trust me?"
"Affirmation."
"I will put you together in reverse order of disassembly, hoping no piece gets lost. Help me as you are able."
"Cooperation." But he paused momentarily.
She smiled. She put her arms around him and kissed his surface. "Affection, Sphere."
"Appreciation." A machine could indeed love, as she knew from her own experience with Havoc.
Then his surface developed lines, and he fragmented, falling into several sections. The malleability of his form was gone; he had turned off his animation. His assorted innards were in a loose pile.
She located the disposal aperture, which was a descending tube. She put a fragment into it. A jet of water came and washed it down and out of sight.
She fed the other fragments into the aperture one by one, watching them wash away. One of his hands held her ikon; she used two other pieces to pick it up and toss it in. His penis was stiffened in the flaccid state; she kissed it and tossed it. Other units were his power source, his hydraulic reservoir, his sensors, his data bank, and his central processing array: his brain. All inert and without character, by themselves. The job was complete well within the hour, thanks to his cooperation. He did trust her.
She diffused. This was a slow process, partly because she had not had occasion to practice it a lot, and partly because her metal frame was dense. She was amazed on one level that she could do it at all; she had thought originally that only living creatures could do it. But it was part of the situation of being a Glamor. Glamors could do things others could not. It wasn't just a matter of having a steady supply of magic.
By the time the last of her solid body was gone, her cloud form filled the Citadel. She was aware of all of it, including especially the housing of the Prime Directive. How easy it would be to open its casing and reach inside to tamper with it! But two things prevented her. First, she did not know machine programming of this level, and probably would botch it, making the machines worse than they were. Second, she had given her word not to. Her oath.
A Glamor oath was akin to a machine program: it could not be breached.
She infused herself into the disposal chute and followed it down and out of the Citadel. The machines were still organizing their advance on the Citadel; they had no notion what she was doing.
She found the collection chamber—the dump—and slowly coalesced there. This was pressurized, as it connected directly to the Citadel, so she could breathe if she found it convenient. The pieces were piled in a large basket that would in due course be dumped into the recycling maw.
She assembled them, her machine memory putting each in its right location. There were no wires or bolts; the pieces were modular, connecting automatically to each other when correctly placed. The sphere quickly took shape. No pieces were missing.
When she placed the last piece, Sphere animated. "Situation report: I am intact."
"Even your penis," she agreed. "I did not arrange to lose it."
"Appreciation."
"Now let's get out of here."
There was a service hatch they used to exit the chamber. She climbed out, then reached back down to catch his extended hand and haul him up.
There was a noise. A mobile service machine had sensed them and was coming to investigate. It was male.
Shee acted on impulse. She strode quickly to the machine and laid her hand on his surface. "All is in order. Ignore us."
The machine turned and went back to his cubbyhole.
"Question?"
"My maidenly charms pacified it," she explained. "Also, it is primitive, set to obey a more advanced machine." Yet not so primitive as to lack gender. "Sense," he agreed.
Thereafter it was routine. She guided them back in much the manner they had come, following the tunnels, avoiding the lava flows, staying clear of supervisory mining machines. They returned to the ship, forged a departure directive, and took off. The machines had not made the connection between the ship and the intrusion into the Citadel.