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as they started toward the portal.
"Odd. I only think of them as demanding."
"Our perspectives are different. I'm sure a professional psych would say it
has something to do with the fact that I lost my mother at an early age and
was raised by my father, whom I idolized."
"Sorry about your mother," Ksarusix said. "Of course, I'm programmed to
express sorrow. But aside from that, I genuinely sympathize. Perhaps if your
life had gone differently, you wouldn't have become the dispirited,
indifferent, killing automaton you are today."
"Thank you for your concern," she replied drily. "It's just that there's no
reason to have them killed, no reason at all. I don't believe in blind
devotion to orders."
"Only insightful devotion to orders."
"I suppose. You know, for a mere serving robot you're awfully perceptive."
Ksarusix led the way. "One has to be when one is assigned to respond to the
often irrational and contradictory demands of retired human beings."
"Help me," she urged it. "If the five seniors are killed, you'll probably
have your memory wiped and be reprogrammed, or maybe just junked. Don't you
have any personal survival programming?"
"Afraid not. I am, after all, a comparatively low-level mechanical, costly
but relatively simple to replace. PSP is a complex and expensive option I have
not been equipped with, involving advanced parallel processing and a
substantial amount of Ethics ROM."
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"Can't you make choices?"
"Only on the level of selecting tapioca over vanilla pudding. Ensuring my
continued existence is not high on my list of directives.But & I will keep you
company."
'Thank you for that anyway."
"No need for thanks. I am only complying with my frustrating, damned,
irritatingly irrational programming," it concluded pleasantly.
She stopped, wrinkling her nose. "It stinks in here. Do you notice it?"
"Certainly. As you would expect for a kitchen mechanical, my olfactory
circuitry is state-of-the-art. A slightly dampish, moldy odor. Not you, I
think."
She made a face at the robot. 'Thanks a heap."
"Pungent. 'Stinks' is not in my work vocabulary. I cannot immediately
classify it."
"Never mind. Pungent or not, I've got to rest. Unlike you, my feet get
tired."
"Personally I've always considered bipedalism lousy engineering." Ksarusix
expostulated conversationally as Ashili sat down on the thin ceramic ledge
which ran around the huge rectangular platform that filled the center of the
room. It was topped by an irregular form of uncertain purpose and design,
difficult to see in the weak light.
"Thirsty?" There might have been a faint hint of concern in the serving
robot's voice. "Subsequent to long walks, the human system invariably requires
replenishment of lost liquids."
"Maybe in a little while. Right now I just want to sit and think for a few
minutes. I'm going to have to improvise some kind of plan. One against four is
bad odds, and I know Praxedes. He's one of those people who're always more
comfortable with force than reason. I don't want to have to shoot anyone.
These people are still my friends and colleagues. I just disagree with them on
a point of command, that's all."
She rose angrily. "Come on. I can't think in here. Not only does it stink,
it's too humid." She started for the portal.
A luminous turquoise ellipse came streaking through the opening to halt
soundlessly in front of them.
"What happened?" she asked resignedly. "Did my friends force one of the
seniors to send you after me?"
"Incorrect. I was not sent here. I was summoned."
Ashili blinked. "I thought only the five seniors whose presence reactivated
you could give you orders?"
"Conditions have altered."
She thought furiously, then looked up, eyes wide. "One of them's here." She
found herself peering anxiously past the blue ellipse. "One of them managed to
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escape and make his way here. Probably had you guide him. Who is it? Heath?"
If anyone could slip away, it would be the retired military man, she decided.
"No. None of the individuals to whom you allude is present."
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