The Naked Sun

The Naked Sun

Isaac Asimov

The Robot Series

A robot is stymied

Baley said, "So the higher potential wins out again, Daneel. You will hurt me to keep me alive."

"I do not believe hurting you will be necessary, Partner Elijah. You know that I am Superior to you in strength and you will not attempt a useless resistance. If it should become necessary, however, I will be compelled to hurt you."

"I could blast you down where you stand," said Baley. "Right now! There is nothing in my potentials to prevent me."

"I had thought you might take this attitude at some time in our present relationship, Partner Elijah. Most particularly, the thought occurred to me during our trip to this mansion, when you grew momentarily violent in the ground-car. The destruction of myself is unimportant in comparison with your safety, but such destruction would cause you distress eventually and disturb the plans of my masters. It was one of my first cares, therefore, during your first sleeping period, to deprive your blaster of its charge."

Baley's lips tightened. He was left without a charged blaster! His hand dropped instantly to his holster. He Drew his weapon and stared at the charge reading. It hugged zero.

For a moment he balanced the lump of useless metal as though to hurl it directly into Daneel's face. What good? The robot would dodge efficiently.

Baley put the blaster back. It could be recharged in good time.

Slowly, thoughtfully, he said, "I'm not fooled by you, Daneel."

"In what way, Partner Elijiah?"

"You are too much the master. I am too completely stopped by you. Are you a robot?"

"You have doubted me before," said Daneel.

The Naked Sun. Illustration by Elena.

"On Earth last year I doubted whether R. Daneel Olivaw was truly a robot. It turned out he was. I believe he still is. My question, however is this: Are you R. Daneel Olivaw?"

"I am."

"Yes? Daneel was designed to imitate a Spacer closely. Why could not a Spacer be made up to imitate Daneel closely?"

"For what reason?"

"To carry on an investigation here with greater initiative and capacity than ever a robot could. And yet by assuming Daneel's role, you could keep me safely Under control by giving me a false consciousness of mastery. After all, you are working through me and I must be kept pliable."

"All this is not so, Partner Elijah."

"Then why do all the Solariand we meet assume you to be human? They are robotic experts. Are they so easily fooled? It occurs to me that I cannot be one right against many wrongs. It is far more likely that I am one wrong against many right."

"Not at all, Partner Elijah."

"Prove it," said Baley, moving slowly toward an end table and lifting a scrap-disposal unit. "You can do that easily enough, if you are a robot. Show the metal beneath your skin."

Daneel said, "I assure you - "

"Show the metal," said Baley crisply. "That is an order! Or don't you feel compelled to obey orders?"

Daneel unbuttoned his shirt. The smooth, bronze skin of his chest was sparsely covered with light hair. Daneel's fingers exerted a firm pressure just Under the right nipple, and flesh and skin split bloodlessy the length of the chest, with the gleam of metal showing beneath.

And as that happened, Baley's fingers, resting on the end table, moved half an inch to the right and stabbed at a contact patch. Almost et once a robot entered.

"Don't move, Daneel," cried Baley. "That's an order! Freeze!"

Robots. Photo by Elena.

Daneel stood motionless, as though life, or the robotic imitation thereof, had departed from him.

Baley shouted to the robot, "Can you get two more of the staff in here without yourself leaving? If so, do it."

The robot said, "Yes, master."

Two more robots entered, answering a radioed call. The three lined up abreast.

"Boys!" said Baley. "Do you see this creature whom you thought a master?"

Six ruddy eyes had turned solemnly on Daneel. They said in unison, "We see him, master."

Baley said, "Do you also see that this so-called master is actually a robot like yourself since it is metal within? It is only designed to look like a man."

"Yes, master."

"You are not required to obey any order it gives you. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, master".

"I, on the other hand," said Baley, "am a true man."

For a moment the robots hesitated. Baley wondered if, having had it shown to them that a thing might seem a man yet to be a robot, they would accept anything in human appearance as a man, anything at all."

But then one robot said, "You are a man, master," and Baley Drew breath again.

Horizon Storms

Horizon Storms

By Kevin J. Anderson

Chief Scientist Howard Palawu

In Earth`s largest factory the compy production line hissed und burled with molten alloys and sprayed solvents. The smell of hot metal and caustic chemicals filled the air. The din og large-scale fabrication, with the whirring machinery and the clang of shaped components, was deafening.

Howard Palawu, the Hansa's Chief Scientist, took comfort from the sights and sounds of an efficient plant operation at full capacity. Smiling, he called up quota numbers on a handheld electronic pad and studied delivery records, projections, and profits. He turned to the tall Swede next to him. "We'll be ten percent higher than the last month, Lars. Fewer errors, faster throughput. More Soldier compies for the EDF."

Lars Rurik Swendsen, the lead Engineering Specialist, stood beside the shorter man, showing a lot of teeth in his broad grin. "The Factory's running like a well-oiled machine, Howard."

"It is a well-oiled machine."

"I can't wait until the new fabrication wing comes online in two weeks. How are you going to spend your bonus?"

Palawu shrugged; he had never much cared about his salary or his rewards. "I still haven't figured out what to do with the last one."

The dark-skinned scientists had broad shoulders and a stomach that wasn't quite as flat as he thought it was. He kept his graying hair cropped extremely close to his scalp. Palawu Had two grown children and had lost his wife a decade earlier in a medical accident during what should have been an ordinary procedure. Since then, the Chief Scientist had devoted himself to his work for Hansa and King. It kept him busy.

A bird which is free. Illustration by Elena.

"The more we milk that Klikiss robotic technology, the more tweaks we can make to the production line," he said. Two years earlier, he and Swendson had been chosen to supervise the complex dissection and dismantling operations of the Kikiss robot Jorax. The breakthrough they had made by copying the alien system had been a giant boon to Hansa technology. Motivational modules and programming routines were scanned, duplicated, and transferred wholesale into resilient Soldier-model compies, which and already been put to good use in the Earth Defense Forces.

The two men walked down the line, watching the identical Soldier compies being assembled step-by-step, each one exactly according to spécifications. The new-model compies were perfect warriors, sophisticated battle machines sure to be the key to defeating the hydrogues.

"I got a report from the shipyards this morning, Howard," Swenden said. "They're already in production with sixty heavily armored rammer ship, according to the Chairman's new plan. They seem to be a week ahead of schedule."

"That's just on paper. The rammers won't be ready for months. We've got plenty of time to manufacture a compy crew for them... even though I hate to see such beautiful machines destroyed in a suicide mission." Palawu watched as another armor-plated Soldier glided by on the assembly plat. "But they were designed to be expendable, I suppose."

A well-dressed man with blond hair came up to the two senior production leaders. Wearing a business suit and a bland expression, the man looked out of place on the Noisy, dirty fabrication line. He didn't even seem interested in the new compies coming off the assembly belts. "Chief Scientist Palawu? Engineering Specialist Swendsen? Come with me, please."

Palawu recognized the self-proclaimed "special assistant" to Chairman Wenceslas who had tried to stop King Peter from ordering a shutdown of the factory because of his concerns about the Klikiss technology. That had been a nerve-racking time, but everything was back on Schedule now.

"Where are we going?" Swendson asked.

"Chairman Wenceslas wishes to see you in his office."

Palawu stood next to his tall colleague, wondering which of them was more nervous. Previously, whenever they'd been spoken to by the Chairman, it had been part of a large board meeting; now they waited alone in the empty room.

A Quite Friendly-model compy strutted like a Wind-up toy, carrying a tray with a pot of strong-smelling cardamom coffee. Palawu preferred tea, but apparently they wouldn't be given a choice. He and Swendson each took one of the proffered cups while the compy set the third on the Chariman's immaculately clean desk. Palawu took a polite sip, looked at his friend. They both waited.

A Horizon Storm. Illustration by Elena.

Gathering of Shadows

A Gathering of Shadows

By V.E. Schwab

Kell strolled the Night Market for the first time in weeks.

He'd taken to avoiding such public appearances, his moments of defiance too rare compared to those of self-consciousness. Let the, think what they want was a thought that visited him with far less frequency and force than They see you as a monster.

But he was in need of air and Rhy, for once in his life, was too busy to entertain him. Which was fine. In the growing madness of the approaching games, Kell simply wanted to move, to wander, and so he found himself strolling through the market under the heavy cover of the crowds. The influx of strangers in the city afforded him shelter. There were son many foreigners here for the locals to look at, they were far less likely to notice him. Especially as Kell had taken Rhy's advice and traded his stark black high coat for a dusty blue one more in fashion, and pulled a winter hood up over his reddish hair.

Hastra walked beside him in common clothes. He hadn't tried to ditch his guard tonight, and in return, the young man had agreed to change his red and gold cloak and armor for something less conscious, even if the royal sword still hung sheathed at his side.

Now, as initial hesitation gave way to relief, Kell found himself enjoying the market for the first time in ages, moving through the crowd with a blissful degree of anonymity. It made him impatiens to don the competitor's mask, to become someone else entirely.

Kamerov.

Hastra vanished and reappeared a few minutes later with a cup of spiced wine, offering it to Kell.

“Where is yours?” asked Kell, taking the cup.

Hastra shook his head. “Isn't proper, sir, to drink on guard.”

Kell sighed. He didn't care for the idea of drinking alone, but he was in dire need of the wine. His first stop hadn't been to the market. It had been to the docks. 

And there he'd found the inevitable: dark hull, silver trim, blue sails.

The Night Spire had returned to London.

Which meant that Alucard Emery was here. Somewhere.

Kell had half a mind to sink the ship, but that would only cause trouble, and if Rhy found out, he'd probably throw a tantrum or stab himself out of spite.

So he had settled for glaring at the Spire, and letting his imagination do the rest.

“Are we on a mission, sir?” Hastra had whispered (the young guard was taking his new role as confident and accomplice very seriously.)

“We are,” muttered Kell, feigning severity.

He'd lingered in the shadowed overhang of a shop and scowled at the ship for several long and uneventful minutes before announcing that he needed a drink.

Which was how Kell ended up in the market, sipping his wine and absently scanning the crowds.

“Where's Staff?” he asked. “Did he get tired of being left behind?”

“Actually, I think he's been sent to see to Lord Sol-in-Ar.:

See to? Thought Kell. Was the king that nervous about the Faroan lord?”

He set off again through the market, with Hastra a few strides behind.

Gathering of Shadows. Illustration by Elena.

Heaven's Devils

Heaven's Devils

(Starcraft II series)

By William C. Dietz

“Any member of the armed services caught removing military assets from a government installation without sanction will be tried as an enemy agent and subject to the death penalty.” (From section 14:76.2 of the Confederate Uniform Code of military Justice).

Fort Howe on the planet Turaxis II

More than a week had passed since Tychus had been released from Military Correctional Facility-R-156 and ordered back to duty. It had been la tough three months, but that was behind him now as a dropship named Fat Girl skimmed over what had been the city of Whitford, and Tychus took the opportunity to eyeball the ruins through an open side door. The slipstream blasted his face and forced him to retreat. But not before he caught a glimpse of devastated buildings, cratered streets, and burned-out vehicles all laid out on a tidy grid.

Withford had been overrun by what the press liked to refer to as “the breakout.” Although Tychus thought it was more like a break-in, since the Kel-Morians had been able to fight their way through Hobber's Gap and lay waste to an area between Burr's Crossing to the south and an outpost called Firebase Zulu up north.

But what they hadn't been able to do was overrun Fort Howe. That was the home of the 3rd Battalion, 4th Marines, also known as “the Thundering Third.” The battalion had not only pushed the KMs out of Whiteford and back toward the mountains, it was currently following the enemy home.

In the meantime Tychus was about to join the 3rd Battalion's holding company at Fort Howe, where, with any luck at all, he would be able to return to work on Operation Early Retirement. A much-neglected aspect of the war effort that Tychus hoped to refocus his attention on.

Heaven's Devils. Photograph by Elena.

The transport began to slow a few minutes later, circled the base below, and lowered itself onto the main landing pad of a starport. The dropship carried eleven other passengers, replacements mostly, who would soon become members of the Thundering Third. They were already pulling their belongings together as the skids touched down and a green light appeared.

When the ramp was extended, Tychus followed a coupe officers and some noncoms onto the pad. Once there, he was struck by the fact that, except for one other ship, the area in front of the starport structure was empty. A sure sign that most of the battalion was elsewhere.

All of his original gear had been lost during the transfer from Prosser's Well to MCF-R-156. So all Tychus had to carry was his duffel bag containing some extra underwear and a Dopp kit. Tychus entered the starport to get directions to the admin building and went back outside to wait for an open-sides jitney.

The five-minute ride served to confirm his initial impression: Fort Howe had been stripped of troops in order to battle the Kel-Morians off the the east. A barracks building had lifted off the ground and was in the process of being repositioned, and the occasional squad could be seed double-timeing from one location to the next. But the facility had an empty feel.

The Longest Voyage

The Longest Voyage

By Poul Anderson

When first we heard of the Sky Ship, we were on an island whose name, as nearly as Montalirian tongues can wrap themselves about so barbarous a noise, was Yarzik. That was almost a year after the Golden Leaper sailed from Lavre Town, and we judged we had come halfway round the world. So befouled was our poor caravel with weeds and shells that all sail could scarce drag her across the sea. What drinking water remained in the butts was turned green and evil, the biscuit was full of worms, and the first signs of scurvy had appeared on certain crewmen.

“Hazard or no,” decreed Captain Rovic, “we must land somewhere.” A gleam I remembered appeared in his eyes. He stroked his red beard and murmured, “Besides, it's long since we asked for the Aureate Cities. Perhaps this time they'll have intelligence of such a place.”

Steering by the ogre planet which climbed daily higher as we bore westward, we crossed such an emptiness that mutinous talk broke out afresh. In my heart I could not blame the crew. Imagine, my lords. Day upon day upon day where we saw naught but blue waters, white foam, high clouds in a tropic sky; heard only the wind, whoosh of waves, creak of timbers, sometimes at night the huge sucking and rushing as a sea monster breached. These were terrible enough to common sailors, unlettered men who still thought the world must be flat. But then to have Tambur hang forever above the bowsprit, and climb, so that all could see we must eventually pass directly beneath that brooding thing... and what upbore it? The crew mumbled in the forecastle. Would an angered God not let fall down on us?

The longest voyage. Photo by Elena.

So a deputation waited on Captain Rovic. Very timid and respectful they were, those rough burly men, as they asked him to turn about. But their comrades massed below, muscled sun-blackened bodies taut in the ragged kilts, with daggers and belaying pins ready to hand. We officers on the quarterdeck had swords and pistols, true. But we numbered a mere six, including that frightened boy who was myself, and aged Froad the astrologue, whose robe and white beard were reverend to see but of small use in a fight.

Rovic stood mute for a long while after the spokesman had voiced this demand. The stillness grew, until the empty shriek of wind in our shrouds, the empty glitter of ocean out to the world's rim. Became all there was. Most splendid our master looked, for he had donned scarlet hose and bell-tipped shoon when he knew the deputation was coming: as well as helmet and corselet polished to mirror brightness. The plumes blew around that blinding steel head and the diamonds on his fingers flashed against the rubies in his sword hilt. Yet when at last he spoke, it was not as a knight of the Queen's court, but in the broad Anday of his fisher boyhood.