Bolos: Honor of the Regiment Part 21

"The Bolos are hypochondriacs?"

"Well, let's say they have excellent auto-diagnostic programs, and they're much more objective than we are. Besides which, our technicians check over each machine once a month. We maintain them very well."

Arlan nodded. He had found out just how well, when he had met Jodie, and stopped to chat with her in her smithy. The term wasn't all that accurate, of course--most "smithies" didn't include blast furnaces and computer-controlled machine tools. If Jodie said she was a smith, though, he wasn't about to argue--not when he saw how the iron flattened under her hammer. Not when he saw her in profile, either.

"That's an awful lot of labor for one spare part," he said as he watched her watch the automatic lathe.

Jodie nodded. "But even when you add in the cost of my labor, it's still cheaper than importing it. s.p.a.ce cargo rates are very, very high--and the Bolo factory back on Terra charges a liver and ten square inches of skin, for an antique spare like this."

Arlan frowned. "Why so high?"

"Because they have to make them by hand, too. After all, they've been out of production for two hundred years." Jodie braked the lathe and began to loosen the clamps. "So we just machine them ourselves, and save all around."

Watching her strong, slender fingers, Arlan wondered if the machinists on Terra could be any better than she was--or even as good. "I can't help thinking that it would be cheaper and quicker to import modern tractors--or even to manufacture your own."

Jodie nodded. "Every volunteer wonders about that at first. I know I did." She laid the finished part under the magnifying gla.s.s and began to inspect it. "There's more to it than economics, though, Arlan. This colony owes its existence to the Bolos. It's a debt. We maintain them out of honor. It may be expensive, but if we forget their past and stop doing it, we'll be welching on a debt--and we'll be less than ourselves."

Arlan watched her work, thinking that over. Traditions and honor seemed to be very expensive. He wondered if Milagso could afford them.

The next day, he dared to sit on Miles's tread as he waited for the truck to pick him up for lunch. He congratulated himself on beginning to trust the huge machine--but he was also aware that his whole body was taut, ready to leap off to the side at the slightest sign that the Bolo was starting to move. "Isn't it hot for you to wait out here in the sun, Miles?"

"Not at all, Arlan. I was built to tolerate temperatures up to fifteen hundred degrees Kelvin, so a variation of twenty degrees Fahrenheit scarcely registers on my thermosensors."

"Must be handy. But you stay parked by this field all through lunchtime. Don't you get bored?"

"I was first activated a thousand years ago, Arlan. A few hours is scarcely noticeable."

Suddenly, the sunlight seemed to be very cold, and the tread beneath his thighs seemed to p.r.i.c.kle. "A . . . thousand years? But . . . I thought your model was only produced three hundred years ago, Miles."

"My body was, Arlan. My computer core, though, goes back considerably farther." Then, completely matter-of-factly, the Bolo told him, "I am Resartus."

All things considered, Arlan was very glad that the truck came along just then.

Chono frowned. "He actually said he was Resartus? You're sure?"

"Clear as I'm telling you now!" Arlan fought to keep a lid on the panic boiling inside him. "Who exactly was Resartus, anyway?"

"Who? More a 'what' than a 'who.' The Resartus was the initial fully-automated Bolo model, the first one that could fight itself. It was a long way from being self-aware, but when push came to shove, it didn't really need a human being aboard."

That gave Arlan a chill. "If you think I'm going back to work with a machine that's gone delusional . . ."

"Peace, peace!" Chono held up a hand, but he was frowning off across the fields. "We're not going to ask that until we're sure Miles is well--but even if he has started thinking he's the original Resartus, he's perfectly safe."

"Perfectly safe!"

Chono nodded. "No matter what ident.i.ty the computer has accepted, it still has its safeguards. It won't attack a human on its own side, no matter what--and out here, all humans are on its side." Chono rose. "But I think we'll leave that field untilled for now. I have a few friends who are going to want to talk to Miles--and spend a little time with the library, too."

The library was accessed through computer, of course, but Miles was accessed in person. Chono's friends were a half-dozen experts in Bolo systems and artificial intelligence. They insisted Arlan come along to double-check what they heard.

"Yes," the Bolo said, "I am Miles--but I am also Resartus."

"How can that be?" asked the senior scientist. He didn't look much like a professor, in khaki shorts and sweat-stained s.h.i.+rt-but he knew what to ask. "The original Resartus wasn't even self-aware."

"That is true, David. But with the enhanced abilities of the Mark XXI's computer, I have gained all the awareness and cogitational capacities of the newer Bolo, while retaining my ident.i.ty as Resartus."

"How have you come to be housed in this newer unit, then?"

"I was manufactured as Miles," the Bolo answered, "but the essential elements of Resartus were included in my original programming."

"I see." David stroked his beard, frowning. "Do you have any idea how this was done?"

"Not really, David. I was not activated until after the manufacturing process was complete."

Arlan wondered if the Bolo was capable of irony. He decided there was no sarcasm intended; the Bolo was probably giving a straight answer to a straight question.

The truck swayed over a particularly rough b.u.mp. Arlan held on and asked, "So it seems to think it's a reincarnation of that first computer-controlled Bolo?"

"We'll have to work with that hypothesis temporarily," David answered.

Arlan shuddered. "What else might it take into its CPU?"

"A good question," David agreed, "and I think we'd better make sure of the answer before we do anything else. You're off the plow for the time being, Arlan. Since you know the case, we're a.s.signing you to the library. Dig up everything you can about the Resartus model, and the government's reaction to it."

Arlan breathed a sigh of relief.

Arlan pored through the stacks, and was amazed at what he found. Yes, the public had been nervous about having a machine that could tear up a city, able to operate without a human aboard--but the government had gone into catfits. They'd insisted on so many restraints, it was amazing that Resartus could still fight itself. When it came to later models, though . . .

"They insisted on having the same restraints built into every later-model Bolo," he told David that evening. He held out the hard copy of the article for him to read. "Turns out that, when the original unit was sc.r.a.pped, the manufacturers divided Resartus's memory holistically, then reproduced the chips for every Bolo that was manufactured. So each chip had Resartus's complete programming in miniature."

David took the copy and scanned it. "I wonder when they quit doing that."

"Did they?" Arlan shrugged. "I don't know anything about military manufacture--and they might still be doing it. The idea was a sort of fail-safe--if the Bolo's computer did malfunction to the point at which it might start shooting up its own side, Resartus's unquestioning loyalty would take over and keep it safe."

David nodded, then looked up at the other scientists. "Miles has gone non-functional, all right. Maybe the nervous Nellies a thousand years ago, were right."

"Is he dangerous?" Dr. Methuen asked.

"Definitely not--the strategy worked. The chip of Resartus's memory has kicked in as a restraint. Miles won't do anything dangerous to us, as long as Resartus is in charge."

Arlan noticed that they were talking about the Bolo as though it were a person, and repressed a s.h.i.+ver. "Any chance they'll battle it out, and Miles will win?"

A flicker of annoyance crossed David's face, but he masked it quickly. It was as good as a scathing comment, though--the greenhorn stood indicted, at least in his own mind.

But David leaned forward, instantly rea.s.suring. "Don't worry about it, Arlan--Miles's personality can't rea.s.sert itself. In a manner of speaking, Miles has shut down, giving Resartus all his ferocious computational capabilities; in a sense, we now have Resartus, self-aware."

"Just how badly-off is he?" Dr. Roman demanded.

"Miles--or perhaps we should just say, 'the confused portion of the artificial mind'--has gone dormant. Resartus has access to all its memories, but can't be affected by its errors in judgment."

"What caused it?" Dr. Methuen asked.

David shrugged. "Can't say, without going inside for a look--and I'm reluctant to ask Resartus for permission. Probably a chip that went bad."

"Can't we just replace the chip?"

"We'd have to, as a first step--either that, or tell Resartus to reroute all his signals around the bad chip, isolate it from the rest of the mind."

Dr. Methuen shrugged. "If that's all there is to it, do it!"

"But that's not all there is to it, is it?" Dr. Roman asked.

"No," David agreed. "The problem is that its memories, too, are distributed holistically throughout the 'mind'--and so are the att.i.tudes Miles has developed. So we can't just edit out a faulty logic-sequence."

"My Lord!" Dr. Roman stiffened. "We'd have to take out the total 'mind,' or have a potentially psychotic computer on our hands!"

David nodded. "Right. And, of course, we just don't have what it takes to build a new computer-brain."

"So what do we do?" Arlan asked nervously.

"Nothing." David turned to him. "Resartus's personality is so completely a part of the 'mind,' that the Bolo is perfectly safe. It wasn't just a fail-safe that would hold long enough to deactivate the Bolo--as though anybody could figure out a way to deactivate a Bolo that didn't want it. It was also a program that could hold as long as the unit lasted."

Arlan just stared at him, trying to absorb the idea. "So Miles is permanently asleep, and Resartus has possessed him?"

"No." David stirred restlessly. "It's more complicated than that. All Miles' memories are still there, after all. It's almost as though the Bolo is still Miles, but knows way down deep that he's really Resartus."

"Delusional," Dr. Roman said softly.

Again, that flash of impatience, and David said, "In human terms, yes. But we can't allow ourselves too much teleology in this, Doctor. Miles isn't a person, after all--he's a machine."

"A self-aware machine," Dr. Roman qualified, "with more thinking capacity than any of us."

"More computational capacity, yes--but no intuition, and no real initiative. He can only act within a very clear set of parameters--and Resartus makes those parameters rigid."

"So you suggest we do nothing?" Dr. Methuen asked.

David nodded. "That's my considered opinion." He turned to Arlan. "But you can be a.s.signed to a different field."

"No," Arlan said slowly, "not if you're sure it's safe." He just wished he were.

The next morning, Arlan approached the metal giant with his heart in his throat, hoping the Bolo didn't hold grudges. "Good morning, Miles."

"Good morning, Arlan. Did you have a pleasant evening?"

"Pleasant?" Arlan stiffened, then realized that Miles must have thought he'd been given the evening off. "Oh. Very restful, thanks. How about you?"

"David took your place on the plow, and was most diverting. He kept up a constant stream of conversation."

Arlan could just bet David had. "Sorry I'm not that good a conversationalist."

"Please do not be, Arlan. Such extensive conversation is very pleasant as a change, but it does interfere with my chess game."

Arlan grinned as he climbed up onto the plow. "Thanks, Miles. Anything new?"

"Only that we are about to be attacked within the next few days," Miles said thoughtfully. "A major invasion, in fact--by Xiala, of course. I have alerted the other Bolos, but you might want to tell the humans."

Arlan sat very still for a few seconds. Then he climbed down off the plow. "Why, yes, thank you, Miles. I think I should do that."

"I shall call the truck back for you," Miles said.

"Now we know what kind of delusions." Arlan clamped down on hysteria. "He's paranoid!"

"Maybe, but we can't afford to take the chance." David pulled the hovercar over to the side of the road and got out. "Miles might have good reasons for his hunch." He slammed the door and walked over to the looming t.i.tan. "Good morning, Miles."

"Good morning, David. I infer that Arlan has given you my news?"

Arlan climbed out of the car slowly, holding onto the door as something solid in a world rapidly going fluid.

"Yes, he has," David said, frowning. "I've checked with the sentry-posts, and they haven't received anything particularly alarming from the satellites."

"Nothing alarming by itself," the Bolo agreed, "but when all the data are taken together as a whole, a pattern emerges."

"Like a chess game, eh?" David folded his arms, squinting up at Miles. "What data are you perceiving?"

"Relays from the surveillance satellites. Over the past month, there have been small celestial bodies flying in flattened arcs from one planet to another. Each event is well-separated from the others in both time and s.p.a.ce, but over the year, I have discerned a steady englobing pattern that has come closer and closer to Milagso."

"Sneaking up on us? We'll have to check the records. But why do you think they'll attack in the next few days?"

"Because last night, there was a ten millisecond burst transmission from the vicinity of the nearer moon. I recorded it, slowed it down, and played it back, but it was gibberish. I am attempting to decipher it even now."

"Let us try, too," David urged, "with the really big computer back at base. Squirt your data to it, would you?"

"Certainly, David. However, the most immediate danger was far closer to home."

"Oh?" David tensed. "What was it?"

"Subterranean disturbances. They are consistent with the signals produced by Xiala tunnel-mining, in their last commando raid."