Chapter Four

TRAINING CALLED FOR EVASIVE ACTION. EVEN IN HIS UN-thinking state, though, Slant knew that he might never find his way from the city if he followed any route other than the straight line he had entered by. There would be plenty of time to confuse his trail once he reached open country; for the present, his first priority was to get outside the walls before the gates could be barred against him.

Therefore the only consideration now was speed; he ran flat out down the avenue, gun clutched in his hand, ignoring the townspeople he passed. They gaped but made no move to stop him.

He reached the gate approximately two minutes after leaving the Council chamber. It was closed, but that was no obstacle for an IRU cyborg; the gates were just wood, and held by a simple iron latch. There were brackets for heavy bars, but the bars were not in place, instead, they lay neatly stacked at one side.

A flying kick demolished the latch, and the gates, re- bounding from the impact, swung open a half meter.

Slant landed on one foot from his kick, then spun about and was out the gate, still running, before the astonished gatekeeper had time to react. The man called after him, but Slant kept running.

There was room now for evasive action, and he left the road, ran across the fields, then looped southward. Ten minutes later he settled onto a patch of grass amid a small stand of trees and told the computer angrily, "Well, now you've done it I could have convinced them I'd found the gun."

"Evidence was to the contrary."

"Evidence, hell! We're dealing with ordinary people—a bunch of near-savages, in fact. I could have convinced them."

The computer did not reply.

"What do you think we're doing, anyway? What's the point in having a human do your scouting if you overrule me every time I try to do something you can't?"

"Information unavailable."

"What information is unavailable?"

"Purpose of cyborg unit."

"What?" Slant was surprised out of his irritation. "You don't know what I'm for?"

"Programming provides instructions as to when to permit cyborg unit to act independently and when to override or terminate. No statement of purpose is provided."

Slant mulled that over for a moment, and was about to ask another question when he was interrupted by the sound of hoofbeats, approaching from the direction of Teyzha. In an instant he was on his feet, gun at ready, looking for cover. He ducked between two of the largest trees and waited.

"Party approaching coincides with mobile gravitational anomaly."

"Where is he?" The voice was closer than he had expected, and much closer than he liked.

"There, behind that tree. Be careful, he's got a weapon from the Bad Times."

Slant cursed under his breath; bow had he been spotted? He was not visible and had made no sound; he was too well trained for that Was this more "magic?" He also found himself annoyed at the second voice's exact words; it was the fact that his weapon apparently wasn't from the "Bad Times" that had forced him to flee.

There was no time to worry about details, though; he had to keep the element of surprise, and move too fast for the Teyzhans to organize and plan. The gun was already in his hands; he leaped from his concealment and fired a burst at the approaching party, aiming low.

The effect was shattering and gratifying; one of the half-dozen horses fell, apparently hit, throwing his rider headlong and tripping up at least one of the other mounts. The remaining horses, some perhaps wounded and all terrified by the roar and Sash of the gun, reared and bucked uncontrollably, whinnying their fear and trying to turn and flee. Their riders, scarcely less frightened themselves, struggled to control them.

Slant did not wait to see the outcome of the chaos he had created; he turned and ran, heading for the woods. Behind him more men lost their holds and fell, narrowly avoiding the hoofs of their own panicked steeds; he congratulated himself on choosing the flamboyant submachine gun over the silent lasers and snarks.

He did not follow a straight course, but twisted and dodged across the outer farms and onward into the forest beyond; he had no fear of losing himself, since the computer was always able to orient him. After a few minutes of swift travel, he slowed to a walk; he did not dare stop completely again. Perhaps if he kept moving the Teyzhans would be less able to find him. He wondered how they had found him that first time.

He also wondered what the damn computer's orders called for now that his scouting expedition had come to a sudden end. "Well, computer," he asked silently, "what would you advise me to do now?"

"Recommended action is surreptitious entry and investigation of enemy stronghold for purpose of locating enemy weapons research."

"You want me to play burglar and find whatever-it-is."

"Query: Term 'whatever-it-is' refers to gravitational anomalies representing enemy weapons research?"

"Right"

"Reference filed."

"How am J supposed to sneak into a city with a wall around it and guards at the gate?"

"Query: Evidence of aerial surveillance."

"There isn't any; it's a preaviation culture, at least around here. Anyway, I think it is; it appears to be pre-technological, except for whatever-it-is."

"Recommended action is surreptitious entry by parachute or other silent aerial approach."

Slant snorted as he walked. "You want me to parachute into the middle of a city?"

"Affirmative."

"Sure, why not? I can only get killed once. I haven't used a parachute in fourteen years, you stupid machine!"

The computer made no reply; it was not programmed to worry about rusty skills.

It was, Slant reminded himself, not programmed for much of anything that related to having spent an extended time in space. The Command had not expected his mission to last that long, either because they thought the war would end quickly or because they thought he'd have gotten killed long before this.

Resigned, he asked, "Should I return to the ship, then?"

"Affirmative."

"Great," he muttered. He slung the gun over his shoulder and turned his heretofore more or less random course toward his starship. After a few moments of walking quietly, letting the gentle breeze and the crunching of pine needles calm him, he remembered the conversation that had been interrupted by his pursuers.

"Computer, you said that you don't know what I'm for."

"Affirmative."

"What are you for? Do you know?"

"Restate question."

"What's your purpose? What goal are you after?"

"That is not a single question."

"Answer both questions, then."

"Purpose of computer control complex of Independent Reconnaissance Unit two-oh-five is to provide necessary assistance to cyborg unit in piloting of starship, processing data, monitoring communications, maintenance of all units, and analysis of situation during actions; also, to assure continued loyalty and service of cyborg unit through use of override and threat of termination; also, to terminate cyborg unit in the event of service dysfunction; also, to assure that cyborg unit carries out mission orders where feasible; also, to carry out mission orders in the absence of cyborg unit or authorized human command. Goal of computer control complex of Independent Reconnaissance Unit two-oh-five is not stated in programming, but can be determined to be termination of all unit function."

"What!" Slant stumbled in surprise.

"Restate question."

"Your goal is your own termination?"

"Affirmative."

"You want to die?"

"Affirmative."

Slant stopped walking, in order to think without distraction. "How can you terminate yourself? Under what conditions?"

"Programming provides the following termination options: Shut-down order following receipt of release code; self-destruct in the event of capture; self-destruct in the event of cyborg unit termination. Evidence indicates first option is no longer viable."

Slant was surprised; the computer was aware that their side had lost the war after all, it seemed. "You're right about that Capture's pretty damn unlikely, too, with the war over." He had intended to say more but broke off suddenly when he realized he had just told the computer that the only way it could achieve its goal of self-destruction was to kill him—or to get him killed, at any rate.

Was that related to what had happened in Teyzha? Had the computer intentionally fouled things up and forced his flight in hopes that he'd get killed? Its programming forbade it from taking any direct action against him as long as he remained loyal, but it just might be subtle enough to try indirect action. \

That might be why it wanted to parachute him into Teyzha; it might be aware that he stood a good chance of getting killed. Its orders did not allow for the passage of time, but it might know that humans could lose skills through atrophy, unlike computers; it could be using that as a loophole.

Then again, maybe it simply arrived at that as the best military option, in accordance with the available data.

Well, whatever the truth, he'd just have to be more careful from now on. He started walking again, mulling the situation over. For the first time in years, he began seriously considering schemes to detach himself from the computer and remove the thermite and the override from his skull; the discovery of the computer's death wish had seriously jarred his longstanding acceptance of his unhappy situation.

Approximately three hours later, as Slant was settling to the ground for a brief rest and wishing he had something to eat, the computer informed him, "Ongoing gravitational anomaly approaching cyborg unit from northeast, at an altitude of approximately twenty meters and ground speed of approximately two meters per second; distance from cyborg unit approximately one kilometer."

"More pursuit from Teyzha?"

"Information insufficient."

Slant sighed and rose to his feet unconcernedly; then the computer's exact words registered, and he asked, "Damn, did you say altitude? You mean it's flying?"

"Affirmative."

"Damn!" he said aloud.

Slant considered taking cover but decided against it; it had done no good previously. He also considered attempting to outrace whatever was pursuing him, but that, too, he rejected; the pursuit was traveling at a good speed, in clear air while he would have to dodge trees and underbrush, and there was no reason to assume that its current pace—which he could probably better—was its top speed, or that it was subject to normal fatigue. Instead he simply unslung his gun and stood waiting, watching the treetops in the direction he had just come from.

A few moments later he caught a glimpse of something gliding above the treetops and moving directly toward him. He checked the gun. It was ready, the clip still almost full; his first burst hadn't used more than half a dozen rounds.

The flying object was closing; even through the treetops he could see that it was apparently a man, moving through the air with no visible means of support. He began to wonder if wizards really existed on this strange planet.

The man, if it was a man, was slowing; he was still about twenty meters off horizontally, as well as twenty meters above the ground.

He stopped, hanging calmly in midair, and called out, "Slant of Tur! Are you down there?"

This was obviously for form's sake; Slant had no doubt that the "wizard" knew exactly where he was. He said nothing.

"I know you're there, Slant."

So much for pretense, then; Slant shouted, "Go away!"

"Slant, I mean you no harm; none of us do. Listen, please! Let me talk to you! You're possessed by a demon, a metal demon in your head; we saw it! You must come back to Teyzha so that we can remove it! Only wizards can help you!"

Slant grinned to himself. The wizards really did seem to know then- business; they knew about the computer hookup and called it a demon, did they? It sounded reasonable enough.

"Well, computer, what do you suggest? Should I go back?" he asked silently.

"Negative. High probability exists that removal of-'metal demon,' proper designation unknown, would impair cyborg function and/or loyalty."

The idiot machine didn't even recognize that it was the demon, Slant realized. "I think it might be worth a try."

"Negative. Such action would constitute cooperation with the enemy."

"That's ridiculous."

"Negative. Further conversation with airborne enemy patrol must be considered counterproductive, increasing probability of enemy action against cyborg unit."

"Slant? Please, say something!" The breeze briefly parted the leaves, and Slant caught a glimpse of the flying man's face; he was a very young man, and the cyborg thought he recognized him as the youngest of the Teyzhan councillors.

"If I'm not supposed to talk with him, what should I do? Flee? He can probably follow."

"Negative. Standard procedures calls for elimination of airborne enemy patrol to prevent relay of cyborg unit location or other data."

"He's just a kid! And he's one of the wizards you wanted to know about!"

"Irrelevant Please take proper action."

Slant recognized that phrase as one that warned of an imminent override if he continued to fail to cooperate; reluctantly, he raised the gun and fired a warning burst in front of the hovering man.

The chattering roar of the gun tore through the quiet forest; bits of shredded leaves flew in every direction like green confetti as the bullets ripped through the trees. Slant's ears rang when the roar stopped.

As the echoes faded off in the maze of trees and the machine-gunned leaves, twigs, and branches finished falling, crackling, and rustling, Slant saw the flying figure fleeing the way he had come, skimming the treetops. He started to call a sardonic farewell, but his voice caught in his throat and his body twitched convulsively as the computer tried to take control of his body. The override was far less efficient at a distance than through the direct-control cable, so for a few seconds Slant was subjected to spastic twitching, but the computer had taken him completely by surprise. Involuntarily the submachine gun was wrenched back up and the remainder of the ammunition clip fired in the direction of the departing wizard, obliterating the new silence and tearing apart more leaves.

Slant was pleased to see that there was no sign any of this renewed fire had touched the Teyzhan councillor.

The computer apparently saw the same thing; when the firing mechanism clicked after discharging the last cartridge, the override released abruptly, and a final uncoordinated jerk sent Slant sprawling awkwardly on the carpet of pine needles.

He lay there for a second, listening to echoes dying once again and watching bits of mangled leaf drift to the ground, then demanded, "What the hell was that all about?"

"Cyborg unit dysfunction; airborne enemy patrol escaping."

"What dysfunction? I didn't want to kill him. There was no reason to kill him; he wasn't going to hurt us."

"Contention unsupported by evidence. Standard procedure calls for elimination of any enemy patrol or individual discovering location of any IRU unit not operating under cover, to prevent relay of unit location or other data harmful to IRU or beneficial to enemy military intelligence."

"Don't spout orders at me I You know there are special cases, and that it's up to me to assess them, not you!"

"Affirmative. However, there is no evidence to indicate that recent action constituted a special case calling for deviation from standard procedure."

"What evidence do you want?"

"Any evidence that would indicate recent action to be a special case calling for deviation from standard procedure. Providing such evidence will modify record of cyborg unit dysfunction."

"And if I have no objective evidence, just my intuition?''

"Record of cyborg unit dysfunction will remain."

Slant wearily regained his feet.

"Warning: Cyborg unit has shown high incidence of marginal dysfunction and lack of enthusiasm for mission. Further dysfunction may allow termination without further warning."

"What?"

"Warning: Cyborg unit—"

"No, never mind, I heard you." That, he thought to himself, was just lovely; he might get his head burned off any time the computer thought he was shirking. He wondered whether this was a manifestation of the machine's death wish, and decided that it almost certainly was. He slung the submachine gun over his shoulder, remembering as he did that it was now useless until he returned the ship and reloaded it, and started to trudge south.

"It's too bad I couldn't just fly, like the Teyzhan councillor," he muttered to himself. He wondered just what he had stumbled into, and how these "wizards" worked their magic.

"You know, computer," he said thoughtfully, "for the first time on this damn mission we might actually have found something."

"Affirmative."

Slipping back into the more familiar subvocalizing, he continued, "It's almost too bad the war's over." The computer did not answer.