“Then what’s wrong?”
“Well, I just hope you really destroyed him. Those quality-control models are built to last, you know. They’ve got self-repair units and a strong sense of self-preservation. It’s damned hard to really knock one out.”
“I think I succeeded,” Perceveral said.
“I hope so. It would be embarrassing if the robot survived.”
“Why? Would it come back for revenge?”
“Certainly not. A robot has no emotions.”
“Well?”
“The trouble is this. The robot’s purpose was to cancel out any gains you made in survival-quality. It did, in various destructive ways.”
“Sure. So, if it comes back, I’ll have to go through the whole business again.”
“More. You’ve been separated from the robot for a few months now. If it’s still functioning, it’s been accumulating a backlog of accidents for you. All the destructive duties that it should have performed during those months—they’ll all have to be discharged before the robot can return to normal duties. See what I mean?”
Perceveral cleared his throat nervously. “And of course he would discharge them as quickly as possible in order to get back to regular operation.”
“Of course. Now look, the ship will be there in about three months. That’s the quickest we can make it. I suggest you make sure that robot is immobilized. We wouldn’t want to lose you now.”
“No, we wouldn’t,” Perceveral said. “I’ll take care of it at once.”
He equipped himself and hurried to the tunnels. The mole people guided him to the chasm after he explained the problem. Armed with blowtorch, hacksaw, sledge hammer and cold chisel, Perceveral began a slow descent down the side of the precipice.
At the bottom, he quickly located the spot where the robot had landed. There, wedged between two boulders, was a complete robotic arm, wrenched loose from the shoulder. Further on, he found fragments of a shattered eye cell. And he came across an empty cocoon of ripped and shredded rope.
But the robot wasn’t there.
Perceveral climbed back up the precipice, warned the moles and began to make what preparations he could.
Nothing happened for twelve days. Then news was brought to him in the evening by a frightened mole. The robot had appeared again in the tunnels, stalking the dark passageways with a single eye cell glowing, expertly threading the maze into the main branch.
The moles had prepared for his coming with ropes. But the robot had learned. He had avoided the silent dropping nooses and charged into the mole forces. He had killed six moles and sent the rest into flight.
Perceveral nodded briefly at the news, dismissed the mole and continued working. He had set up his defenses in the tunnels. Now he had his four dead beamers disassembled on the table in front of him. Working without a manual, he was trying to interchange parts to produce one usable weapon.
He worked late into the night, testing each component carefully before fitting it back into the casing. The tiny parts seemed to float before his eyes and his fingers felt like sausages. Very carefully, working with tweezers and a magnifying glass, he began reassembling the weapon.
The radio suddenly blared into life.
“Anton?” Haskell asked. “What about the robot?”
“He’s coming,” said Perceveral.
“I was afraid so. Now listen, I rushed through a priority call to the robot’s manufacturers. I had a hell of a fight with them, but I got their permission for you to deactivate the robot, and full instructions on how to do it.”
“Thanks,” Perceveral said. “Hurry up, how’s it done?”
“You’ll need the following equipment. A power source of two hundred volts delivered at twenty-five amps. Can your generator handle that?”
“Yes. Go on.”
“You’ll need a bar of copper, some silver wire and a probe made of some non-conductor such as wood. You set the stuff up in the following—”
“I’ll never have time,” Perceveral said, “but tell me quickly.”
His radio hummed loudly.
“Haskell!” Perceveral cried.
His radio went dead. Perceveral heard the sounds of breakage coming from the radio shack. Then the robot appeared in the doorway.
The robot’s left arm and right eye cell were missing, but his self-repair units had sealed the damaged spots. He was colored a dull black now, with rust-streaks down his chest and flanks.
Perceveral glanced down at the almost-completed beamer. He began fitting the final pieces into place.
The robot walked toward him.
“Go cut firewood,” Perceveral said, in as normal a tone as he could manage.
The robot stopped, turned, picked up the ax, hesitated, and started out the door.
Perceveral fitted in the final component, slid the cover into place and began screwing it down.
The robot dropped the ax and turned again, struggling with contradictory commands. Perceveral hoped he might fuse some circuits in the conflict. But the robot made his decision and launched himself at Perceveral.
Perceveral raised the beamer and pressed the trigger. The blast stopped the robot in mid-stride. His metallic skin began to glow a faint red.
Then the beamer failed again.
Perceveral cursed, hefted the heavy weapon and threw it at the robot’s remaining eye cell. It just missed, bouncing off his forehead.
Dazed, the robot groped for him. Perceveral dodged his arm and fled from the cabin, toward the black mouth of the tunnel. As he entered, he looked back and saw the robot following.
He walked several hundred yards down the tunnel. Then he turned on a flashlight and waited for the robot.
He had thought the problem out carefully when he’d discovered that the robot had not been destroyed.
His first idea naturally was flight. But the robot, traveling night and day, would easily overtake him. Nor could he dodge aimlessly in and out of the maze of tunnels. He would have to stop and eat, drink and sleep. The robot wouldn’t have to stop for anything.
Therefore he had arranged a series of traps in the tunnels and had staked everything on them. One of them was bound to work. He was sure of it.
But even as he told himself this, Perceveral shivered, thinking of the accumulation of accidents that the robot had for him—the months of broken arms and fractured ribs, wrenched ankles, slashes, cuts, bites, infections and diseases. All of which the robot would hound him into as rapidly as possible, in order to get back to normal routine.
He would never survive the robot’s backlog. His traps had to work!
Soon he heard the robot’s thundering footsteps. Then the robot appeared, saw him, and lumbered forward.
Perceveral sprinted down a tunnel, then turned into a smaller tunnel. The robot followed, gaining slightly.
When Perceveral reached a distinctive outcropping of rock, he looked back to gauge the robot’s position. Then he tugged a cord he had concealed behind the rock.
The roof of the tunnel collapsed, releasing tons of dirt and rock over the robot.
If the robot had continued for another step, he would have been buried. But appraising the situation instantly, he whirled and leaped back. Dirt showered him, and small rocks bounced off his head and shoulders. But the main fall missed him.
When the last pebble had fallen, the robot climbed over the mound of debris and continued the pursuit.
Perceveral was growing short of wind. He was disappointed at the failure of the trap. But, he reminded himself, he had a better one ahead. The next would surely finish off the implacable machine.
They ran down a winding tunnel lit only by occasional flashes from Perceveral’s flashlight. The robot began gaining again. Perceveral reached a straight stretch and put on a burst of speed.