And whether or not we’re trying to put something over on you, An Li thought. Still, it wasn’t worth arguing over.
“If it’s smart and doesn’t interfere and if it can even help if need be, then we’ll take it. One problem or funny move, though, and it’s history. You understand that?”
“I think we understand each other perfectly.”
“When will the supplies be aboard and the ship refitted? In other words, how soon can we go?” An Li asked him.
“Two more days. Some of the weaponry you wanted isn’t exactly legal, you know, and many of the sensors and such are also pretty tough to find in good condition. Still, most of it is repairing the damage to the Stanley. Oh—the shipfitter wants to know if you want to take the smelter. Even if you did use it to good effect last trip, it seems rather excessive here, and the object is to streamline the outer hull as much as is possible in a salvage ship.”
“We can send that one back,” Jerry Nagel told him. “It didn’t really do a whole hell of a lot of good for us, and even less for poor Achmed, and I can’t think of anything we’d use it for on this kind of trip. What few of its functions might be useful we can get from the weapons array. A lot of what we asked for isn’t for shooting, it’s alternative tools, you might say. I suspect if we face off against an alien race that’s been running this kind of experiment or scam or whatever all these years, they can probably outgun us anyway. My feeling is they’ll keep hidden, let us hang ourselves, as it were. I’m not itching to fight somebody who actually might be able to use stuff that’s brand new.”
“Fair enough. I’ll stick around long enough to see you off, but then I have to get back home. I’ve put off work far too long now,” Sanders said.
“But we meet here to settle up,” An Li reminded him.
He smiled sweetly. “Of course! You couldn’t keep me away. So, that’s it now.”
“Well, one more thing,” An Li told him.
“Oh?”
“Petty cash. We’re going to need to pick up some personal things here, and we’re gonna have a nice little going-away party as well.”
Norman Sanders sighed. “Oh, very well. How much?”
“Two thousand apiece.”
“What!”
An Li shrugged. “Don’t worry, Normie, Baby. It comes out of our share…”
He wasn’t mollified. “What the hell are you going to do with money like that?”
She smiled sweetly. “That’s none of your damned business.”
VII: THOUGHTS AND HISTORY
“Hello. I am Eyegor,” said the thing floating just in front of Randi Queson. The voice was pleasant enough, but it had that ring of artificiality, of machine, in a clear undertone, and its emotional range was somewhat limited.
The thing itself was about a meter high, and was mostly a stalk filled with folded-up arms and tools, almost like a gigantic utility knife, with a “head” that was a small translucent globe with a thin, reddish-brown band going completely around its equator. It floated in some fashion, keeping the “head” roughly at a height just below parity with whomever it was addressing.
“Let me guess. You’re Sanders’s camera, right?”
“One of many, yes. In this case I am his primary documentary unit. My sole function is to record as much raw footage as possible of whatever happens and then get it back to my company. I am used to making myself as unobtrusive as possible.”
“Well, you better be very unobtrusive when it comes to us,” she warned the robot. “We’re not actors or film people in any way, and we treasure our privacy. There isn’t much on a ship like this, even less on an away team, so whatever privacy we can get we demand. You should understand that.”
“I assure you that I am unobtrusive.”
“You misunderstand Doc,” Jerry Nagel commented, approaching the two of them. “We don’t want unobtrusive. We want nonexistent. In other words, if you get into our space or photograph and record anything we don’t think you should, or if we just think you did that, well, then, just remember that you will be alone and unable to get any additional instructions, and our primary occupation isn’t exploration, it’s salvage. Now, how smart is that dedicated positronic brain of yours, camera? Do you understand your rules among us, or do I have to spell it out?”
“I believe I get your meaning,” Eyegor assured him, sounding a bit uncertain.
“Well, let’s just put it up front. You record anything having to do with us, you ask permission first. And when we’re doing our job, which means any time we’re working aboard ship or at any time down on a planet, you will obey our orders instantaneously no matter what. Either do that, or we will demonstrate how quickly and efficiently a salvage engineer can disassemble a robot of any sort and catalog its parts for later sale. That clear enough?”
“I believe you have made yourself as clear as need be,” the camera responded a bit nervously.
Queson looked the thing over and frowned. “Does the name have some meaning?”
“A show business joke,” the robot told her. “If you do not know it when you hear it, it is not worth explaining, nor is it my choice anyway.”
“Okay, suit yourself. At least I assume you don’t sleep or eat or need any maintenance?”
“I require no maintenance, that is correct, and my redundant dual power supplies are sufficient for centuries to come. I have a small number of spare parts that I carry, and the ship’s own maintenance section can fabricate anything else I might need. As I said, I should not be in your way. You should barely notice my presence unless you wish to.”
“Oh, if you’re a member of our crew then we’ll all want to be aware of your presence,” Nagel assured the robot. “You could come in handy for us as well. If we’d had you last time we’d have saved ourselves a lot of grief.”
“I shall be happy to assist you if I can do so. I am, however, a robot, not an android or a cybernetic device. My programming is not something I can get around, so please remember this. I was designed for a single function, so my initiative is limited. My primary function comes first.”
“Well, so long as we don’t have any surprises, that’s the main thing,” Nagel warned it. “If it appears that your programming requires you to do something against my interest or the interest of my crew, you’re salvage, so please remember that. That, too, is something you will find yourself unable to get around.”
Nagel was already walking away, going towards Sark, who was checking a bill of lading on a hand tablet. One by one, pictures of everything loaded aboard the Stanley came up, along with coding as to which prefabricated cube it was in and just how to get it. A small earpiece told him what each was and any specs he requested. The big man glanced up as Nagel approached.
“Any problems?” the engineer asked.
“Not if that shyster was as good as his word and what’s listed here is actually in those things. This is high-quality stuff. Mostly salvage, of course, but still the best, mostly new or lightly used. Makes you wonder where the salvage barons here got a lot of this stuff.”
Nagel nodded. “Trust nothing from Sanders. Take a container or two at random and check it physically against the bill. Test anything you want in any of them to make sure it works. Let me know if there’s any funny business.”