“Then why did you return?” asked the homolog.
Kartaphilos shrugged. “Why not? I’ve seen most of the World a thousand times over. Besides I was curious to find out what had finally happened to you.”
“I am surprised to see that you cared.” The homolog turned away from the other robot. “Now please, leave us. I will debrief you at a later time.”
“You still don’t seem to understand,” said Kartaphilos. “I do as I wish.”
“No, that cannot be allowed,” said the homolog, wheeling quickly, its arm raised and ready to strike the robed figure.
But Kartaphilos moved more rapidly; his arm streaked out from the folds of the cloak and powerful fingers gripped the wrist of the other robot. “You dare strike me with this flimsy shell!” Kartaphilos laughed as the homolog paused for an instant, locked in the firm grip of the robed one’s hand.
Yanking its arm violently, Kartaphilos tore the robot’s arm free of its shoulder in a flash of light and ruptured metal. The homolog reeled, as if momentarily stunned, then staggered forward to engage the attack once again.
Kartaphilos stepped back and assumed a rigid stance, tilting his head back at an odd angle. Suddenly his lower jaw dropped open, incredibly wide, until it clicked into position. Without warning a red beam of energy leaped from the back of his throat, penetrating the homolog’s head like a spear.
A blue-white explosion blinded everyone for an instant, while the sound of sizzling, cooling metal fragments filled the room. As the cloud of thick vapor dissipated, the group saw Kartaphilos standing above the smoldering remains of the homolog. The old robot stepped back, closed his jaw slowly, and turned to the humans.
“Forgive me, but Guardian made it necessary,” he said.
“How? What did you do?” said Varian.
Kartaphilos bowed his head modestly and grinned. “I was originally a Combat Series Warrior,” he said. “Very sophisticated. All Series VI’s were equipped with the disruptor beam. Good for close combat. Although the Series VI’s were still under the tactical command of the Guardian, the Command Option models were allowed the ‘privilege’ of independent thinking if the situation, in, say, the ‘heat of battle,’ warranted it. As far as power or strength characteristics are concerned, I am far more formidable than the Guardian homolog with which you were familiar. Combat Series are self-repairing units, resistant to weather, radiation, and even small-arms fire. It was, as you say, ‘no contest.’”
“That’s not exactly what I meant,” said Varian. “The Guardian has no . . . control over you now. . . .”
Kartaphilos smiled. “That is correct. Aeons ago, when I was first sent out for reinforcements, when the Citadel and the city were under siege, I was damaged during an attack by a Riken force. After escaping and allowing the self-repair functions to do their work, I discovered that my Command Option was functioning on what is termed an ‘open level’; that is, while I was aware of the ‘presence,’ if you will, of Guardian, there was no manner in which it could actually dictate my actions.”
“I still don’t figure it,” said Stoor. “You still came back when it sent out that homing beacon. . . . Why?”
Kartaphilos looked at the old man, paused, and smiled. “I returned because, at that point, I still believed that I was serving the same Intelligence which had sent me out in the first instance.”
“What do you mean: ‘the same Intelligence?’” Tessa said. She looked at Varian, wondering if he understood what the strange robot was actually saying.
Kartaphilos walked across the room, stepping over the wreckage of the homolog, and seated himself on a divan. He leaned forward, resting his arms upon his thighs and looking very weary. It was such a human thing to do, thought Tessa. It was hard to believe that even the builders of the Citadel, of the Guardian, could construct a machine which acted so utterly human.
“What do I mean?” said the robot in a mocking voice. “I would have thought you had all realized the truth by this time. . . .”
Stoor advanced upon him. “What truth! What’re you talking about?”
“I was aware of it as soon as I entered the Citadel,” said Kartaphilos. “Don’t you know? The Guardian is insane.”
Chapter Eleven
“I think we’d better have a long talk,” said Varian.
There was a brief silence as everyone looked at one another with the same expression—a mixture of fear and confusion. Kartaphilos studied them all, looking quite amused.
“You really didn’t know, did you? None of you. . . . Incredible, actually.”
“What do you mean?” asked Tessa.
“I mean did you think we all acted like this back in the First Age? Did you think we were all a bunch of strutting, powermad demigods, with no more regard for human life than a Luten?”
“At this point, we don’t know what to think,” said Varian. “I think you’d better explain a few things.”
Kartaphilos exhaled slowly. “If indeed I can explain it. There is not much to say other than the fact that something has happened to the Guardian in my absence. It’s functioning, in a purely cybernetic sense, perfectly; don’t misunderstand me. It’s just that its thought processes, its mind, if you will, is deranged, awry, insane. . . . There is no other way to describe it.”
“How can you be sure of this?” asked Tessa.
Kartaphilos shrugged. “Again, I cannot fully explain it or describe the sensation. Let me only say that my electronic makeup is such that I have sensory inputs to Guardian which tell me that the AI is not functioning properly.”
Stoor walked halfway across the room, turned, and shook his head. “That crap don’t make much sense to me. . . .”
“I am sorry if I cannot make it more clear. I can only ask that you believe me.”
“What’s going to happen to us now?” asked Tessa. “Now that you’ve destroyed the Guardian’s robot. . . ?”
“There are plenty of other machines which Guardian may use,” said Kartaphilos. “Don’t forget, it has control over practically everything in
