*
As they approached the STOP HERE line, from the wrong side, Bandicut realized that the quarx had been quiet for a time. He found himself wondering something: why didn’t he feel more upset, or at least more peculiar, about the presence of the alien being in his mind? Any ordinary human would be nearly insane with fear, indignation, and bewilderment. He was plenty confused, and indignant—but he was not yet over the edge into madness, and he wondered why. He felt that sensation of a wind in his thoughts for a moment, and then the alien stirred and spoke.
/// I had hopes
that you would be able to . . .
accept . . . my presence better than most.
I sensed a certain . . . readiness. ///
Bandicut recalled his mental state when he had driven out here, just before he had fallen into the cavern. The silence-fugue. It was caused, not by any fundamental disorder in his psychological makeup—at least he didn’t think so, not that he really trusted the doctors here on Triton to know—but by the damage to his neuroconnectors, coupled with the absence of the link, which he had grown to require, like oxygen or fuel.
The alien had seen that vacancy and taken advantage of it.
/// Let’s say rather that
your need made you a more capable candidate
for my presence. ///
/You make it sound like an honor that I was out of my mind with silence-fugue./
/// Not the silence-fugue.
But your desire and need for
this kind of connection. ///
He drove thoughtfully for another few moments. /What will happen if I flip off into fugue-state again? Will it be as crazy for you as it is for me?/
The alien was silent, apparently thinking.
/// I don’t know, ///
it said at last.
/// But if I can help you out of it,
I will. ///
Huh, he thought, but not directly to the alien. He wanted to come back with some sort of snappish response, but the alien’s answer actually seemed reasonable, and possibly even honest.
The quarx offered,
/// You know,
it might make things more comfortable
if you would think of me as “Charlie”
—instead of “the alien.” ///
Bandicut grunted and expelled his breath.
/// Just a suggestion. ///
He grunted again. He was driving faster now; he was coming into an area that he knew well. The robot was bobbing in silence on the side of the buggy, apparently content to listen to the motors and whatnot, and leave him alone. /Charlie,/ he thought, trying it out for feel. To his surprise, it felt okay.
A short time later, he said, /Charlie. Seeing as how we’re going to be so all-fired familiar with each other—/
/// Yes? ///
/—would you mind telling me, in thirty words or less, where you’re from and what it is you want with me?/
There was a brief hesitation; he thought he sensed words at the tip of his mental tongue.
/// There’s no . . . short answer . . . to either question,
unfortunately. ///
the quarx murmured at last.
/All right, then—give me the long answer./
The wind riffled in his thoughts.
/// I’ll try.
Can you listen and drive at the same time? ///
/I’ll try,/ he said sarcastically, steering along a winding path that climbed a low ridge.
/// Okay. ///
There was a pause. Then the quarx began,
/// As for where I’m from,
that’s a long story
and I sense that it is not uppermost
in your thoughts.
With your permission, I will begin with
the second question— ///
/Yes, yes, go on./
/// Thank you.
First I must tell you that I am, in truth,
as much at the mercy of fate,
destiny,
external direction,
whatever you wish to call it,
as you. ///
/Mm./ Bandicut squinted, steering around a tight curve at a trifle too high a speed.
/// The translator and I work together.
Much of what I do comes from its knowledge.
Its direction, if you will. ///
/Mm?/ Bandicut frowned, slowing a little. He didn’t want Napoleon to record that he was operating at unsafe speeds.
/// And it is the translator that informs me
of the need for action
—possibly drastic action—
for which I will need human assistance. ///
/Yeah? Assistance to do what?/
/// Assistance to, er— ///
/What?/ Bandicut demanded. /For God’s sake, just spit it out!/ He sped up again in irritation.
/// Okay.
Assistance to . . . save your Earth
from destruction. ///
Bandicut veered off the edge of the path.
Chapter 4
Return to Base
THE ROVER HEELED over sharply as the wheels dipped to the left. “Mokin’ foke!” he yelled, struggling to keep control of the joystick as he bounced sideways, banging his helmet against the canopy. In Earth gravity, he probably would have rolled over; but he had just enough float to keep it under control while he slowed down and steered the rover back up onto the path. Then he braked to a halt and sighed. /All right, goddammit. Now what did you just say?/
/// I’m . . . sorry if I startled you. ///
/Sorry? I don’t give a mokin’ foke whether you’re sorry./ Bandicut took a deep breath. /Did you, or did you not, just say, ‘Save the Earth from destruction’? Am I supposed to believe that? Or was it some kind of joke?/ He blinked, wanting to stare at the alien. Since that was impossible, he gazed instead at Napoleon, which was swiveling its robot head to fix him with an inquisitive stare of its own.
/// Yes.
I had sensed that it might . . . startle you.
That’s why I asked
if you could drive and listen— ///
/Never mind that dingo shit. Just tell me what the fr’deek you meant./ He gave the robot a wave, hoping that the metal creature would refrain from asking questions.
/// Well . . . it’s very complex,
and I don’t have all the information yet.
That’s why I need time— ///
Bandicut grunted harshly. If he could have seared the quarx with a glare, he would have. He was aware of Napoleon trying to raise him on the comm. Exhaling loudly, he put the rover back into forward motion. The robot swiveled its head worriedly. “Suit—comm on. Nappy—ah—I’m okay here,” he called.
The robot looked back. “Are you certain, John Bandicut?”
“I’m certain. Comm off.” /Now tell me./
He sensed an awkwardness in the answer.
/// It’s . . . an approaching cosmological hazard.
Look—I think we should wait
until we’re someplace where we can talk.
The danger’s coming soon,
but not that soon. ///
Cosmological hazard? Coming soon . . . ? /Listen, damn it—/
/// I don’t mean to evade your question.
But we don’t want to draw attention
to ourselves, do we?
What’s this new escort coming our way? ///
/Escort?/ He suddenly noticed several other robots of various configurations moving along the top of the ridge. As the buggy crested the ridge, the robots fell into formation flanking him, apparently for the purpose of accompanying him back to base.
He cursed silently. /All right, I’ll play along—for now. But as soon as we’re alone, you talk. Comprende?/
/// Com . . . prendo, ///
the alien croaked.
Scowling, Bandicut switched on the panel comm and squeezed the mike sw
itch. It was time he called in and let base camp know he was alive. He heard a blast of static, which wasn’t encouraging—but he transmitted anyway. “Base Camp Exo-op, Unit Echo. Base Camp, Unit Echo. Do you read?” He was answered with more static. What was going on? he wondered. His suit antenna was broken, but not the buggy’s. He tried again. “Base Camp, Echo. Anyone, this is Bandicut. Does anyone read me? Any station?”
The northern mining battery was just coming into view over the horizon. Base Camp was about a kilometer beyond it. The main surface-stripping laser was inactive at the moment. He saw one of the big crawlers moving over the beam-spread area, and assumed that it was safe to proceed, even in the absence of radio contact. He kept trying the comm, but the closest he came to actual contact was, faintly through the static, a voice saying, “. . . GOT HIM IN SIGHT, HEADING INBOUND FROM WENDY.” Eventually he gave up and just kept driving. It wasn’t worth worrying about now; he was almost there.
/// I did that to help you. ///
/Huh?/
/// The electrical . . . malfie. ///
He squinted through the windshield, an uneasy clarity coming to him. The robot in the power compartment. The flashes. /Oh./
/// Remember that when you get in.
An electrical malfie. ///
He let out his breath and didn’t answer.