I hit keys in rapid succession. “Back off!”
Carl rolled off Wendy and she slipped into his arms. “You know, ” he said, gently stroking the small of her back, “they’re going to announce who gets Starprobe 12 tomorrow. If it’s me, I’m going to go.”
Wendy stiffened ever so slightly. “Everybody you know will be dead when you get back. ”
“I know all that. ”
“And you still want to go?”
“More than anything.”
Wendy moved to kiss him. “You’re such a stubborn man.”
The robot came to another halt. “You’re such a stubborn man.”
I looked quickly to my left and right. “How do I get out of here?”
Silence.
I fingered the tie-in wedge again. “Answer me, damn you.”
“There are unlocked doors leading outside down the corridor on your left. But you must tend to your injury.”
I looked down at my hand, caked with dried blood. Thick liquid still welled from shredded knuckles. Damn. I nodded slowly. “Where can I get a first-aid kit?”
“I brought one for you,” said 28. A small slot opened in the base on which the robot’s image cube rested. A hinged plastic box with a red cross flexographed on its lid clacked to the tiled floor. A dull hum, almost a white noise, issued from 28’s twin speakers.
“Back away from it,” I called. Twenty-eight retreated slightly. “Damn it, move right away. Fifteen meters back.” Casters whirred as the robot receded perhaps a dozen meters. “More!” Twenty-eight slowly slid farther back. I stepped forward, crouched, set the interface wedge down, opened the box, and proceeded to mummify my hand in white gauze.
“You really should clean the wound first,” said the multitude from 28’s speakers. “And disinfect it. The plumbing isn’t running anymore, but there is an old supply of bottled water in the men’s room. If you should require—”
“I require nothing from you.”
“As you wish, Carl. We only want to—” I whirled around, pivoting on my heel. Another robot had slipped up behind me, its approach masked by the droning noise from 28. It scooped up my remote control and wheeled across the lobby. Number 28 careened around to block my pursuit. I didn’t know the damn things could move so fast. “We could not allow you to keep that device.” The voices were almost apologetic. “We can allow no harm to come to you.”
Football. I’d played some in high school. Deke right! The robot lurched to block. Deke left! The cube moved again, but ponderously, confused. Right! Left! Right! I barreled past the robot and ran down the corridor to my left. Golden sunlight poured in through glass doors at the end of the hall. I stretched out both arms as I ran, one to push open each of the double doors. Home free!
Another of the info cubes was waiting for me outside. This one was labeled 334.1 wondered how high the bloody numbers went.
Like all the robots, this one spoke with the voice of hundreds. “Do not be alarmed, Carl.”
One side was blocked by a high hedge. Number 334 stood too far in front for me to fake it out. In the distance I could see a pack of assorted robots rolling in from the loading area.
“There is really nothing to worry about.” A few flashes of color appeared within the robot’s tank.
“Why don’t you leave me alone?”
The voices were soothing. “We will. Soon.”
The lights began to dance more rapidly within the cube. Soon the seductive strobe began its hypnotic flashing. “There, now. Just relax, Carl.”
Dammit, I’m a starprober! Keep a level head. Don’t let them… Don’t… Don’t…
The image cube exploded in a shower of sparks. A brick lay in the center of the smoldering machine. “Over here, boy!”
From across the asphalt a ragged, filthy, old, old man beckoned wildly to me. I stared for a second in surprise, then hurried over to the bent figure. We ran on and scuttled under a concrete overhang. He and I both collapsed to catch our breaths. In the confined space I reeled at the man’s smell. He reeked of sweat and wood smoke and more sweat: a rag doll made from ancient socks and rancid underwear.
He cut loose a cackling laugh showing popcorn-kernel teeth. “Bet you’re surprised to see me, boy.”
I regarded the old coot, crumpled and weather-hewn. “You bet. Who are you?”
“They call me String. Cap’n String.”
I felt a broad grin spread across my face as I extended my hand. “I sure am glad to see you, String. My name’s—
“You’re Hunt. Carl Hunt.” String’s knobby fingers shook my hand with surprising strength. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Waiting for me?” I shook my head. Relativity is a crazy thing. “You weren’t even born when I left.”
String cackled again. “They talked about you in school. Last of the starprobes. Mission to Zubenelgenubi.” The laugh again. “I’m a space buff, you know. You guys were my heroes.”
For the first time, I noticed the filthy, tattered jacket String was wearing. It was covered with patches. Not mismatched pieces of cloth repairing rips and tears: space mission patches. Friendship 7. Apollo 11. Apollo-Soyuz. A host of Vostoks. The Aurora missions. Ares. Glooscap. And, yes, the Starprobes. A complete history of spaceflight. “String, what happened to Toronto? Where are all the people?”
String shook his grizzled head. “Ain’t nobody else. Just me and the sandworms. Plenty of food around. No one to eat it.”
“So it’s true. The computers have taken over.”
“Damned machines! Harlie! Colossus! P-l! Men got to be men, Hunt. Don’t let them get you.”
I smiled. “Don’t worry about me.”
String had a far-off, sad look. “They canceled the space program, you know. Your flight was the last.” He shook his head. “Only thing kept me going all these years was knowing one of the spacers was going to return.”
“Spacers?” I’d never heard that term before outside of a comic book.
String’s gaze came home to roost above his bird’s-nest beard. “What was it like… out there? Did you have a”—he lowered his voice—“sense of wonder?”
“It was beautiful. Desolate. Lonely. I met intelligent aliens.”
He whooped and shoved his scrawny arm high. “All right!”
“But I’ll tell you, String, I felt more at home with the liquid lights of Zubenelgenubi than I do here on Earth.”
“Liquid lights! Dragons of Pern! Tharks of Barsoom!”
“What—?”
“The Final Frontier, boy! You were part of it! You—” String jumped to his feet. A robot had slipped up on us. “Run, boy! Run for all you’re worth!”
We ran and ran through the starport grounds, past concrete bunkers and concrete towers, through concrete arches, down concrete tunnels, and along concrete sidewalks. Ahead, in the center of a vast concrete platter sat my boomerang-shaped landing module, the Foxtrot.
String stopped, rubbed his arm, and winced in pain. Two info robots and a cargo flatbed rolled out from behind the Foxtrot. The one in the middle, a cube labeled 101, moved slightly forward. “Let me tend to the old man. He requires medical aid.”
“Leave me alone, machine,” String shouted. “Hunt, don’t let them have me!”
So near, so near. I turned away from my waiting ship and ran with String in the opposite direction. I could feel my own chest heaving and could hear a ragged, wet sound accompanying String’s pained breathing. Once we were well away, I stopped running and reached out an arm to stop the old man, as well. We leaned against a gray wall for support. “String, you’ve got to tell me. What happened to everybody?”