Key to Survival

Havoc acted before he realized what he was doing. He kissed her.

She kissed him back. "You know I am crafted to love you," she said as they broke. "But I would not have initiated that gesture. I try not to be forward."

"You really are a woman," he said, amazed.

"Affirmation. Merely not a living one."

"We must talk," he said. She had kissed exactly like a woman, and he discovered that he liked her despite knowing that she was a machine. This needed to be sorted out, emotionally.

"I will always be available," she said. "For anything you choose."

"Question: That instrument—what is it? I have not seen its like."

"The shells?" She brought them out again. "They are from an erstwhile culture. I had my choice of musical accessories, and liked these, so learned them."

"Request: May I handle them?"

"Of course. But you will not find them familiar."

"I can play anything." But as he squeezed a shell, it made a noise like a fart.

Shee laughed. "The control is dual. Pumping to make it inhale and exhale, and shaping to vary the tone. So:"

She held the other shell in her left hand, squeezing it gently. It made a fine sustained note, followed by a scale of notes.

Havoc tried again, but managed only a series of grunts and wheezes. He gave it back, smiling. "You will teach me this, in due course."

"Gladly, Havoc."

"Do you sing?"

"I do."

"What songs?"

"I know all of yours. I was crafted for this."

"All?"

"Affirmation."

"How?"

"The machines developed a database of your cultural artifacts. It is part of their process of conquest: they make sure to understand the nuances as well as the gross features. They do not like surprises."

"How?" he repeated.

"A generation ago a series of synthetic human beings was sent to your planet. Their purpose is to collect exactly such information."

"The fifths!"

"Agreement. They are not aware of their mission, but their minds are readily permeable to machine monitors, and all that they learn is grist for the data banks. Such as your folk songs."

"I am keeping company with one of them now."

She nodded, unsurprised. "She is surely receptive to your attentions."

Havoc, shaken, changed the subject. He knew he would have to ponder this revelation in due course, when alone.

He had known about the origin and purpose of the fifths, but to have the robot so readily confirm it—that was significant. He had assumed that the machines would do their best to keep the secret. What could be their ploy?

He brought out his blue dragon scale. "I will sing a stanza, then you will sing one. Then we will sing the refrain together." Did she really know them all?

"Gladly," she repeated.

He chose a song he hadn't sung in years, "Nicodemus," because it wasn't the kind villagers normally understood or appreciated. They preferred love or adventure songs, and as Minstrel, he catered to their preferences. The fifths would not readily have picked it up. It related to the slave days of ancient Earth, when folk of white color made slaves of folk of black color, and to the black folks' longing for freedom.

He played his dragon scale and sang:

Nicodemus the slave was of African birth
And was bought for a bag full of gold.
He was reckoned as part of the salt of the earth
And he died long ago very old.

Then he paused, giving it to Shee. She squeezed her shells, making her own accompaniment, and sang:

And his last sad request as they laid him away
In the trunk of an old hollow tree:
"Wake me up," was his charge,
"At the first break of day
Wake me up for the great Jubilee."

Then they sang the refrain together.

It's a great day coming, and it's not far off
Been long long long on the way.
So go and tell Elijah to saddle up Pomp
And lead us by the gum tree down in the swamp
For to wake Nicodemus today.

She really did know it! The harmony was beautiful, his tenor, her alto. She was an excellent singer, with delightful melodic nuances, and her voice meshed perfectly with his. Havoc was a thoroughly experienced singer, and knew the difference between amateur and professional quality efforts. She was as good as he was.

They finished, and put away their instruments. He embraced her closely and kissed her, one hand cupping her divine bottom. "Wonder," he said. She was yielding, accepting, participating, and extraordinarily appealing. He had doubted that any machine could win his favor, but he was already losing his resistance. This was scary; the machines had pegged him far more accurately than he had anticipated.

"Kiss me thrice, and you will not stop there," she said.

"I can stop where I choose."

"But you will not choose."

She was probably right. "Yet you serve the machines."

"I am a machine," she agreed. "I was created by machines, and am serving the mission of the machine culture. But my heart is with Havoc."

"Because of your programming," he agreed. "This is not earned love."

"I can be deprogrammed in that respect. Then you will be obliged to earn my love."

"Temptation. Will you depart if deprogrammed?"

"Negation. There remains my mission. I will merely have to express feelings I lack, to influence you."

That did not appeal. "State your mission."

"To persuade you to commit your daughter Voila to join the machines."

"Voila does not answer to me."

She shook her head reprovingly. "Disingenuity. She will do this if you tell her to."

"Why should I tell her to?"

"Because this will save her and you and your species from extinction." She took his elbows and stared into his face. "I love you, Havoc, and want you to survive and prosper, with or without me. I can save you only in this manner."

"We can fight off the machines."

"Negation. Havoc, I think you don't properly appreciate their power. It is overwhelming, and not merely because of their superior technology. They prepare methodically for every conquest, so as to make no mistakes. The fifths, as you call them, are only part of it. The secret spies are only part of it. I am only part of it. Their massive type 2.5 space fleet is only part of it. They are experienced millennia deep and galaxy wide in just such actions. You would be foolish to think that you could successfully oppose them, and I doubt you are foolish."

"Type 2.5?"

"Your culture is magic, but I know you are familiar with the technological types, Havoc. You don't need me to review them."

"Review them regardless." He had done this with Opaline, to establish the limits of her information.

What were Shee's limits?

"When a culture uses only a portion of the energy of a single planet, that is type 0. When it utilizes all the energy of a planet, that is type 1. When it utilizes all the energy of a star, that is type 2. When it utilizes all the energy of a galaxy, it is type 3. The human culture is type 1. The machine culture is half way between 2 and 3 and will be 3 when its conquest of the galaxy is complete and it focuses on capturing all its energy. This is not merely a matter of energy, but of sophistication."

"Doubt."

"And that is part of the reason I am here. I am an example of what a type 2-plus culture can do. You will want to study me, and despair."