“That maid should’ve been hooked into my systems, but I couldn’t control it. There must be a restrictor preventing me from accessing it. Look under the wires.”
Nyssa lowered the poker.I need to complete this mission … and he's helped me get this far. I may still need him.
“There might be a programming box with memory wheels,” Hart continued. “If you can remove those and put them in my system, I should be able to read them, browse the history of its time online. Maybe that will give us some insight into exactly what’s going on here.”
Nyssa shuddered but knelt beside the robotic maid. She pushed aside the wires, trying to avoid the still warm heart, and uncovered a metal box wired with the same flashing blue and silver cords as Hart’s circuits. A black disk, like a Victrola record, rested on a nest of wires. It fell into her hand at a touch.
Clutching the disk, she turned to the mirror. “So, now what?”
With a click, a control panel slid from beneath the mirror.
“Upload the memory wheel, and I’ll see what information I can glean from it. If I can analyze the sensory input, perhaps we’ll get some idea of where everybody got to.” Something had changed in Hart’s tone. He was more subdued, sometimes wavering between syllables, and in spite of her suspicions, Nyssa felt a pang of pity.
He really does believe in his benevolent Creator. What happens if the contents of this wheel shatter that image forever?
A rounded indentation marked where the memory wheel belonged. Nyssa snapped it into place then stepped back.
The panel receded and lines of blue snaked across the mirror.
“There’s an older memory file buried in here, looks like from when the robot went online. I think I can play it as audio.” The mechanisms within the mirror buzzed like wheels spinning in snow. “Here it is … 'Please, God, no.'” Hart’s voice rose in pitch, and Nyssa flinched.
“'No' what?”
“It’s … it’s not me. It’s the file.” Hart’s original tone returned. “It … 'Help me, someone!'” The high pitch came back, gaining in volume. “'Where are the others? Am I the only one left? I don’t want to be converted. I’m human. Please don’t, please, please don’t.'”
The hair on Nyssa’s arms rose. She backed against the wall, trying not to look at the heap of mechanical elements that had been the maid.
“'He’s mad. Thinks this is for my own good, but I’ve seen the others. There’s no good in what they’ve become. Please, someone … no, professor, no. It’s not what I want. It’s not right. No!'”
The words gave way to a shriek. It pierced through Nyssa’s heart. Her breath quickened, and it was all she could do not to scream along with it. Then silence. Just the hum of Hart’s inner workings.
“That’s all that’s left of her.” Hart’s deeper tone returned, lower than before. If he’d been human, she would’ve said he’d mumbled it.
“What … what happened?”
“The Creator had technology to turn human memories into computer data. Somehow when he … converted this woman, he captured the last of her human thoughts on the memory wheel. Just the last bit, though. There’s nothing about who she was before this or what she felt after, if anything. Small mercies.”
“Mercy?” Nyssa’s fists tightened. Maybe he’d kill her, turn the whole house against her, but this wasn’t right. She lurched towards him, her fingers about the poker’s handle. “There’s no mercy in anything we just heard. Is this the work of your benevolent creator?”
“I didn’t mean it that way. I just meant … it doesn’t look like her consciousness continued long enough for her to suffer. Shatter me if you want. It won’t unmake me.” His voice took on a sullen tone. “I don’t understand any of this. None of this fits with my programming or memory. Why would the Creator make me aware of right and wrong if he were deluded enough to do this to another human being?”
“Maybe he wasn’t when he made you.” Nyssa inhaled through her nostrils, calming herself, but not releasing the poker. “Nothing I’ve heard about Professor Dalhart suggests he was either cruel or mad. The most I’ve heard said about him was that he was eccentric.”
“This goes a lot deeper than eccentricity. Nyss, I understand if you don’t trust me after this.”
“Stop it with the Nyss. We aren’t bosom buddies with clever nicknames for each other.” She scowled at him.
“Says the woman who calls me Hart.” A laugh quavered within his tone. “I didn’t have to play that recording. I could’ve hidden it. If I wanted to entrap you, would I have shared something like that?”
She shifted the poker from one hand to the other. “Maybe not. Look, I do believe you’re as shaken up as I am about this. There’s a piece missing, something that changed Dalhart from someone who could make something like you, to someone who butchered his household staff.” A thought choked Nyssa’s words. “She said others. How many others?”
“I don’t know. We haven’t seen any other robots.”
“I’ve seen two. There was a broken one on the stairs and one trimming the hedges in the garden.” Were both of them once human? The maid’s heart was still beating. Did she know what she once was? Did her soul remain trapped in that metal cage?
“Three is only a small portion of the staff. I remember supervising twenty-three people. I knew their faces and their names. How could he have done this to twenty-three people?”
The cold fingers of a draft brushed the back of Nyssa’s neck. She turned up the collar of her peacoat. “You have memories of the staff? Of their names and faces, but not what happened to them?”
“Computer memories aren’t like human ones. They can be removed, saved on memory wheels or isolated systems. When I was in the library, where you found me, I knew the number of the staff but not
