Mechanical Failure Part 19

Report: A-267FR-02147-E

Serial: A-267FR-02147-E Distribution: DBS//DSS//DAK//DFR//BB//CLOSED NETWORK A66 Cla.s.sification: Special Protocol Required Summary: Human 2552 has come into contact with prototype droid PFC-D-24.

Details: Human 2552, previously in charge of the AIGCS, has recovered the remains of prototype droid PFC-D-24 on the refuse deck of the MPS Flagship. The lack of sensor arrays in this particular section of the ship prevents an understanding of how exactly this relationship was formed. However, the supplies that Human 2552 was gathering prior to the meeting suggest cleaning of s.p.a.ce bugs from the targeting computer. We are unable to a.s.sess how Human 2552 discovered the presence of these listening devices, nor how he planned on removing them.

Periphery: Human 2552 attempted to destroy BAR-BR 116, though the reasons are not clear.

a.s.sessment: The reemergence of the unintegrated PFC-D-24 is problematic and must be observed and dealt with carefully. Conclusions about Human 2552 are still ambiguous, but it is possible that he presents a threat.

Report Submitted By: F-GC-001 A Man and His Droid They made for a very strange pair walking down the command deck of the Flagship. Rogers, walking with a limp, his uniform wrinkled beyond recognition, and Frankenrobot, pulled from the brink of death by being fused with the old parts from deceased droids. Deet, as Rogers decided to call him, didn't seem to mind being pieced together. If anything, he seemed to be happy he wasn't still sitting in the garbage dump. Rogers wondered how long he'd been there, or if droids had any real concept of the pa.s.sage of time.

"I have to ask," Rogers said, "what's up with all of that EXPLETIVE stuff?"

"My Profanity Generator is broken," Deet said. "It has never worked properly, despite me asking every EXPLETIVE, DISPARAGING REFERENCE in the maintenance bay to fix it. I don't know how the EXPLETIVE I am supposed to communicate with humans if I can't EXPLETIVE talk like them."

"Boy," Rogers said, "you really don't like the guys in maintenance, do you?"

"I can't stand those CANINE OFFSPRING."

"Well, it's not so bad," Rogers said. "All humans don't talk like that, anyway." He thought for a moment. "In fact, almost none of them do. Just Hart, and that's because he's old and grumpy."

"Well, how am I supposed to know that? It's a little hard for me to observe them when I'm sitting in an EXPLETIVE garbage dump for most of my life, isn't it?"

"I suppose so," Rogers said, eyeing the robot. He seemed to be developing more of a personality every moment. He also seemed very concerned with very un-droidlike things, like expressing himself and interacting with humans. At least he wasn't concerned with tr.i.m.m.i.n.g Rogers' beard.

They pa.s.sed a trio of standard droids wheeling themselves down the hallway. As Rogers and Deet approached, however, they stopped and stared.

"What's your problem?" Rogers said. Normally, he would have just walked right by them, but today, all things considered, he was feeling a little irritable. And maybe a tiny bit like he needed to prove himself after being flung around the garbage chute like a balloon with a hole in it.

"CALL FUNCTION [GET DATA]."

"I don't follow you."

"Why would you follow them?" Deet asked. "They're not even going anywhere."

"It's an expression," Rogers said. He turned back to the droid that had called the ambiguous function. For the first time, he wished droids had real faces; at least then he might have some idea what the d.a.m.n thing was thinking.

"CALL FUNCTION [GET DATA]."

"Yeah," Rogers said, "you were just getting data a second ago. How much data do you need?"

It was starting to become a strange, awkward gathering. They had barely exited the up-line to the command deck, and so they were still quite a ways away from all of the saluting and pomp, making for an empty hallway. The two droids that weren't currently "getting data" stood completely and totally motionless.

"CALL FUNCTION [STALL FOR TIME TO ALLOW THE GETTING OF MORE DATA]."

"There's a function for that?"

"There's a function for everything," Deet explained.

"OUTPUT STRING: THE ATMOSPHERICS ARE AMICABLE."

Rogers frowned, squinting. "Are you trying to say that we're having nice weather?"

"OUTPUT STRING: SPORTS TEAM REFERENCE."

"You're not even really trying. Look, I don't know what data you're getting or why you stopped to stare at us in the middle of the hallway, but why don't you find something useful to do like go jump out the trash chutes."

"CALL FUNCTION [ILLUMINATE IGNORANCE]. OUTPUT STRING: THIS COMMAND WOULD RESULT IN LITTLE TO NO BENEFIT."

"I beg to differ," Rogers muttered.

"CLOSE FUNCTION [GET DATA.] CALL FUNCTION [PERSUADE]. TARGET [LIEUTENANT ROGERS]. OUTPUT STRING: YOU APPEAR TO HAVE BEEN BURDENED BY UNNECESSARY COMPANIONSHIP. PLEASE ALLOW US TO RELIEVE YOU OF THIS BURDEN."

"Jeez," Rogers said, "where were you guys that time in the bar in Aaskerdal?"

"OUTPUT STRING: WE ARE UNFAMILIAR WITH THIS LOCATION. IF YOU WISH US TO ACCOMPANY YOU TO THIS LOCATION, PLEASE FILE A FORMAL REQUEST WITH-"

"Let's not talk about bringing droids to bars," Rogers said. "And anyway, I'm fine with my new companion here."

"Hey," Deet said, "does that mean you like me?"

"No."

"EXPLETIVE."

The three droids, however, wouldn't be so easily dissuaded.

"CALL FUNCTION [GIVE UP]."

Well, maybe they would. They abruptly ceased all communication with Rogers and went on their merry metal way. Rogers turned to watch them board the in-line, feeling something itching at the back of his brain that he couldn't quite scratch.

"What was that all about?" Rogers asked.

"The other droids never liked me very much," Deet said. He beeped a couple of times, his head twitching in a way that made Rogers wonder if he was going to last very long. Everything about the poor robot looked broken, the fact that he looked like a walking, multi-attachment kitchen utensil notwithstanding. "I used to tell them jokes."

"If they're anything like the ones you've told me so far," Rogers said, "I can't say I blame them."

"That was also a joke, wasn't it?"

"I'm not sure yet."

They made their way down the hallway, thankfully not becoming involved in any more strange conversations with droids, and soon Rogers became so embroiled in saluting everyone he pa.s.sed that he forgot Deet existed. Only the pain in his shoulder kept him company now, and the weight of the rank on his uniform. It had been like this every day he'd been on the command deck, and this brief revisit to his pain reminded him why he'd decided to run away. The worst part was, at the end of this torture, someone would be there to tell him to polish boots while he wrote the next Gettysburg Address.

"What the AFTERLIFE LOCALE are you doing?"

"My job," Rogers said. Though he meant it as a joke, he realized that it was mostly true.

"Your job is to wave at people all day? You're not even doing it very well."

"It's not waving," Rogers said, his teeth clenched, sweat running down his face. "It's saluting."

"Well, you should stop," Deet said as another starman first cla.s.s jumped in the back of what was becoming a very long line to salute Rogers. All movement in the hallway had completely stopped, everyone waiting their turn to salute everyone else. A pair of very confused corporals saluted each other on accident.

"It's not that easy," Rogers said.

"Well," Deet said, "what would happen if you were to break your arm? If you couldn't physically salute, n.o.body could blame you for it, right?"

"I think I'd rather keep my bones intact, thanks," Rogers said, breathing heavily. Who had invited the entire enlisted corps of the Meridan Marines to the command deck? Where did all of these people come from? Why wouldn't they just go away? He should have hung himself. Hanged himself? It didn't matter. He should have just pressed the big red b.u.t.ton in the garbage chute, holes in his suit or no holes in his suit.

"So, fake it," Deet said.

Rogers stopped, his arm falling to his side. He turned, slowly, staring at the little droid with all of the rusty parts sticking out of him at strange angles. The command deck was completely frozen now, especially since Rogers had stopped saluting people. People were crowding in the doorways, practically climbing on top of each other just to prepare to salute Rogers. A group of three troops-a major, an ensign, and a master sergeant-had gotten caught in what Rogers had named "the grind" and were walking in a small circle, each saluting the other as they pa.s.sed. You couldn't get out of the grind unless someone b.u.mped into you or one of you broke down crying.

"Fake it," Rogers said. "Fake it!" Why hadn't he thought of that before? What had happened to him that he couldn't even come up with the most basic of cons: pretending to be sick? He'd learned that when he was four years old-thermometers in s.p.a.ce heaters, swallowing kitchen cleaners to induce tremors for a few minutes.

"Give me that," Rogers snapped. Deet had been carrying the tattered remains of the VMU that McSchmidt had lent him. Tearing a strip off the soft interior liner, he hurriedly created a sling that he looped around his right arm and his neck. In truth, it actually felt kind of good; his arm was so tired that it was practically broken anyway. Rogers secured the sling in place and looked up at the crowd, daring them to salute an injured man.

There was a brief moment of silence, followed by loud pattering noises as the entire hallway emptied in a matter of seconds. Rogers and Deet stood alone near the entrance to Rogers' stateroom. He hadn't even realized how close he'd been.

"Wow," Rogers said. He turned to Deet. "I'm impressed. Even the Froids in the AIGCS didn't have this much personality."

"CALL FUNCTION [EXPRESS GRAt.i.tUDE]."

Rogers paused. "Joke?"

"Yes!" Deet exclaimed. He beeped excitedly. "Yes, it was!"

They covered the remaining distance to Rogers' stateroom and paused for a moment as Rogers fumbled for his key-the one he'd been certain he was never going to use again-and slid it into the reader beside the door. The low level of activity around his door almost made Rogers feel uncomfortable. He could have sworn that, not a minute before, there had been a mob of people throwing their arms everywhere right in front of him. The door slid open, and Rogers took the now-familiar first step into freefall. It still felt like his stomach was going to claw its way out his nose, but at least he wasn't surprised by it.

Rogers spun around to find Deet still standing at the door.

"Do you have an addiction to roller coasters or something?" Deet asked.

"The admiral thinks that this is a good way to prevent his executive officers from killing themselves."

"Well, I'm not going in there," Deet said.

"That's right," Rogers said. He reclined his body to a pantomime of sitting in a big lounge chair. "You're all powered by the artificial gravity generators." He snapped his fingers. "That's what I wanted to ask you. All of the droids on the ship keep going to the mess halls and plugging into the power outlets. But if they're powered by the AGG, what's the point?"

Deet paused for a moment, then made two short chirps in rapid succession. "I am unable to a.s.sess the reason for this action."

Rogers frowned. The way this robot kept switching back and forth between talking like an old droid and talking like a human was a little disconcerting.

"Charging battery backups, maybe?" Rogers guessed.

"I'm not equipped with a battery backup," Deet said, "but it is probable that later versions of my frame were outfitted with such a system."

Rogers spun around the room a little, stuffing some loose articles of clothing into his floating wardrobe. In the short time he'd lived in this environment, he'd at least taken the time to make it seem clean. Having ten things floating around the room was better than having a hundred.

"Well," Rogers said, "let me just change out of his uniform. Just hang out in the hallway for a few minutes and then we'll see what the most powerful man in the 331st can do."

From his vantage point in the center of his stateroom, Rogers could see only Deet darkening his doorway. Behind the droid, there was still a noticeable absence of personnel. Had everyone taken the day off since Rogers was no longer there to salute?

"I don't see anyplace to hang," Deet said, looking around.

"Figure of speech. Just wait."

"I'm not sure I want to do that, either."

Rogers stopped, the components of a new uniform draped over his arm. "Why?"

Before Deet could answer the question, he vanished from the doorway in a sudden blur. A loud crunching noise echoed throughout the empty hallway.

"What the h.e.l.l?" Rogers grabbed the side of his wardrobe and pushed off to get back to the door. He landed smoothly on the other side, slowing himself down by jogging for a few steps-a move he'd invented yesterday that made him feel kind of like an action hero crashing through a window-and looked around the hallway. He barely saw a flash of metal disappearing behind the corner leading back toward the up-line and the other end of the command deck.

"Hey!" Rogers broke into a trot and turned the corner just in time to see a pair of tracked-variety droids attempting to shove Deet into the garbage chute. Deet was beeping loudly, his eyes flashing between blue and red.

"Get your EXPLETIVE hands off me, you MATERNAL FORNICATORS! I'll rip off your REPRODUCTIVE ORGAN and PERFORM NAMESAKE OF BIBLICAL CITY!"

"What the h.e.l.l are you doing with my droid? Stop!" Rogers said. The two droids that had been trying to unceremoniously stuff Deet into the garbage chute stopped, though they didn't let him go. The poor rea.s.sembled droid-who was significantly smaller than the two standard droids, thanks to the recycled parts available and Rogers rushed workmanship-hung there waving his arms frantically.

"CALL FUNCTION [EXPLAIN AWKWARD SITUATION]. OUTPUT STRING: DROID PFC-D-24 HAS BEEN SCHEDULED FOR DESTRUCTION."

"He's not scheduled for destruction," Rogers said. "He's actually already been destroyed."

"OUTPUT STRING: THIS DOES NOT COMPUTE."

"That's because you're stupid," Rogers said. "How are you going to destroy something that's already been destroyed? That's logically impossible."

The two droids holding Deet made some very emphatic noises. For a moment, they seemed frozen. Rogers took a step forward.

"CALL FUNCTION [CONTINUE WITH PRIMARY MISSION]."

"Stop!" Rogers said. "Neither of you droids outrank me. I've looked at the new rank and organization regulation MR-613. You are legally obligated to follow my orders."

Rogers hadn't read the regulation-in fact, he hadn't read any regulation in ten years-but the statement gave the droids pause. They looked between Rogers and Deet, clearly confused.

"I'm telling you that D-24 has already been destroyed," Rogers said. "You can't do it again. You'd violate Schrdinger's principle of entanglement. This droid cannot be both destroyed and not destroyed at the same time."

Rogers was almost positive that Schrdinger hadn't said anything like that, but the droids didn't seem to know the difference. That, and Rogers was on a roll; if there was one thing he'd learned during his life, it was to never stop when he was on a roll.

"By attempting to destroy him again, you are trying to bend the fabric of truth and s.p.a.ce," Rogers said. "You are threatening to tear apart the very fabric of time. Is that something that droids are supposed to do?"

"CALL FUNCTION [LOOK CONFUSED]."