Cerberus: A WOLF IN THE FOLD (36 page)

 
"Then why—why work for them?" Dylan asked, puzzled.

 
"Oh, I don't
work
for them, exactly.
On Cerberus, I just about
am
the Confederacy, which I consider a delicious joke on all of them.
It has to do with the way I look at history and society. Qwin here might tell you more about that. I .don't really feel like philosophical chats right now, there's too much to be done. Let's just say that I use them, and they use me, and we both profit. I also use Laroo and his people and system. All to the end of living exactly the life I want, doing what I most love to do."

 
"I don't understand why they sent me at all," I told him honestly, and with the respect one professional offers another. "You could have done everything easier and with less risk yourself."

 
"Well, that's not true. If I got anywhere near Laroo, or particularly his island and his projects, I'd put myself in severe and immediate danger, and I'm just not willing to do that. As I said, my activities are designed to keep me in my own personal nirvana as long as possible. Indefinitely, I hope. So I'm not the active sort. Laroo wouldn't trust me near him or his babies simply because I know too much about him, know him too well." He grinned. "He thinks I had a partial mindwipe about that, which is the only reason I'm still here. But on
a.
secondary level, I'm too close to the problem. I've been here too many years, know too many people. My objectivity is askew. A fresh analytical mind was needed to filter the information. Besides, this way it's
your
neck, not mine."

 
"But you said you didn't care if the aliens attacked," Dylan noted, still trying to figure him out. "Then why help against this thing at all?"

 
He became very serious. "The ultimate threat is those creatures out there.
Perfect organisms, superior in every way.
Homo excelsus.
And all totally programmable.
Totally.
Everybody's programmed, of course, by what we call heredity and environment. But we have the ability to transcend much of that, to become what the programming never intended. That's why no totalitarian society, no matter how absolute, in the whole history of mankind has been able to eradicate the individual human spirit
These—
robots—are the first true threat to that.
They can't outgrow their programming.
Speaking euphemistically, I have to say they scare the shit out of me."

 
We both nodded. "So where do we go from here?" I asked him.

 
"All right.
We've analyzed and dissected and played with all those samples. I'll tell you the truth: Dr. Merton is correct. We have no idea how to duplicate that stuft, how to make it ourselves. It's beyond us. Which is all to the good, I think. I wouldn't want ulwin that business, either, although Lord knows they'll try. That's the bad news, sort of. The good news is that though we can't make it or quite understand how it works, we know how to work it, if that makes sense."

 
"Not a bit," I told him.

 
"Well, I don't know how to make a pencil, but I know how to use one. Even if I'd never seen one before, I could still figure it out. The operation, that is. We have an infinitely Complex variation of that same idea here. Now, if the basic obedience programming were in the very chemical makeup of the thing, we'd be up the creek. No way to deprogram without dissolving it. Fortunately, it's not. There
is
a programming device inside each quasicell, and it's quite complex and we don't understand it at all. However, knowing that, we can
add
programming information and be sure that the information is transmitted and stored via the Wardens the same way as we swap here. There's an interesting implication that the thing is designed with Wardens in mind and might not work without them, which may mean that these things were developed by our aliens specifically for us here and now on Cerberus, rather than just being a variation of something common in their culture."

 
"So? What does this all mean?" Dylan asked impatiently.

 
"Well, half the samples went elsewhere and the other half stayed here, where my lab handled the practical stuff. Wardens were essential, which we have in abundance here. It became a fascinating exercise, really. Using an organism we can't understand at all to influence another we can't build or duplicate. But with the aid of computers
Outside
and my lab here, we finally managed to get a readout. The chemical coding language is quite complex and not at all human, and that's what took the time, but we finally got it. Fortunately, the basic obedience stuff is duplicated in every cell. In fact all the cells, whether brain or tissue, are pretty much the same and can simply become what they need to be. The programming is rather basic, as it would have to be, since it's serving as a single base for all the different robot agents being sent back to all sorts of different worlds, jobs, and conditions."

 
"Then you can get rid of it?" I pressed.

 
"Nope.
But we can do the same thing I suggested as regards psych implants. The aliens have made it impossible to separate the basics without lousing up the cell and triggering this meltdown process. But the cells are programmable, remember. They have to be. So we can
add
programming to override these initial steps. Cancel it out completely, leaving an unencumbered mind in a super body."

 
"Surely Merton would have thought of that," I pointed out

 
"Undoubtedly she has," he agreed, "but she hasn't the computer capacity and resources to get a complete readout of the codes, let .alone actually break the language used. That's what stuck them. You wouldn't believe how much time had to be.
devoted
to
this.
Laroo was right: not every string he could pull could commandeer that much computer time for that long without drawing Security like a magnet"

 
"So we can give him what he wants," Dylan sighed. "How does that gain
us
anything?"

 
"Well, for starters, we'll need to give you some absolute protection. That can be accomplished simply by making it a complex psych implant using the Security system. Laroo can't break it. Nobody here could break it —or if they can, we've already lost the war. In other words, you can't give the information to 'em unless you want to, which is the only time you'll know it—and you'll just know what to do, not what you're doing. And it'll have to be done one at a time, one robot at a crack."

 
• "But he's only allowing
me
on the island," Dylan pointed out. "Doesn't that mean he'll just make a robot out of me and have it any time he wants it, block or no block?"

 
"No, and there's an easy way to handle that.
Very easy.
We add another
block,
similar to the dozens Security's placed in Qwin's brain over the years, as insurance. There is no human who cannot be tortured, or chemically or mechanically made to spill his or her guts.
None.
So we use the same methods to make sure that such operations will be fruitless. It's what stopped Laroo from going the robot route with Qwia here right from the start. I'm sure he has some implants like
This
himself.
It's
.really simple, and one they'll understand and accept right off because they all know the type. Basically, it's a psych command that erases other information if any sort of coercion is used, and can even be triggered voluntarily if need be. He won't
dare
try anything with you. He'll need you totally—and he can use his own psych staff to verify the existence
¹
of the erase commands. It protects you— and it protects us."

 
Dylan looked puzzled by that, but I understood him exactly. "He's telling us that not only can it be triggered voluntarily or involuntarily to erase, but it can be triggered externally, as by a Confederacy agent Similar to what the good doctor here must have used on Laroo to ensure his own well-being."

 
Dumonia smiled and nodded.

 
"But you're
still going
to give him the answer he wants!" Dylan protested.

 
Dumonia kept smiling.

 
"Think about it, Dylan," I urged her. "You've seen the way we think long enough. Remember the cells are
programmable."

 
She considered what he said, and I was beginning to think we were going to have to spell it out. Then suddenly I saw her mouth shape into an oval.
"Oooh . . . Oh, my!"

 
"My only regret is that Dylan's going to have to do this all alone," I grumbled. "I hate missing out on the climax of the big scam. After all, it
was
my idea."

 
"There's a way, you know," Dumonia reminded us softly, but I could see that eager gleam in his eyes. "I set things up in case you wanted to do so."

 
Dylan looked at him, then me. "I—I'm not sure I want to," she told us. "I'm a little scared of it."

 
"I told you there was a big risk," the psych admitted. "And I understand the cautions. First, you could split. No big deal there, as long as you wanted to stay together forever, and that's a long time. You could merge into one new personality. Or you could find out that deep down neither of you really like the other. That's particularly the case in Qwin's mind, since he was a
very
unpleasant person until he came here and found his humanity."

 
She nodded. "I know. That scares me the most, I guess. I love him the way he is now, but I don't think I would like the old Qwin very much at all. He sounds too much like Wagant Laroo."

 
I looked at her strangely.
Her, too?

 
"There's another possibility," he suggested, sounding slightly disappointed at her reluctance. I think he really
wanted
to pull off that merger or whatever, strictly for professional curiosity or maybe just for fun. "I could manipulate the psych plants so that it would require
both
of you to complete the programming operation."

 
I looked up at him accusingly. "That's what they recommended right along, wasn't it?
To make sure that neither of us could be held hostage to the other's cooperation."

 
He coughed apologetically, then shrugged and gave a wan smile. "So would I be a good doctor if I didn't point out all the interesting alternatives?"

 
"Then we go together, whether they like it or not," Dylan said firmly. "That's good." She hesitated. "But won't this operation point an arrow straight back to you? Won't they
know
who had to be the one to give us the information?"

 
"If it works, it's academic," he told us. "If it doesn't, or if anything goes wrong, well, I have contingency plans. Don't worry about me. I cover myself pretty well."

 
"I'll bet you do," I said dryly. "Well, let's get on with it"

 
As I predicted, Bogen
didn't
like the revised plan, not one bit.

 
"What could I do?" I asked him innocently. "Here we were going down the elevator from Dumonia's office and suddenly, bang, out go the lights for both of us. We wake up half an hour later halfway across town, with the briefing identically planted in our minds and the blocks in place. You know your men lost us."

 
He didn't much like
that,
either, but could only glower.

 
"Well, you got it, though?"

 
"We got it." I had already explained the terms and conditions, spelling out the prot^ctions^n pretty absolute terms.

 
"The boss isn't gonna like this," he growled.
"Too much to go wrong.
Tell you what, though. Both of you come out to the island this afternoon. Bring your things— it might be a long stay."

 
I nodded and switched off.

 
"You really think Laroo will buy it?" Dylan asked worriedly. "After all, he's putting himself in the Confederacy's hands."

 
"He'll buy it," I assured her, "although cautiously. He doesn't have any choice, as you know who assured us."

 
"Imagine. The most powerful man on Cerberus, one of the four most powerful in the Diamond, and maybe one

 
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of
the most powerful men around today, period—and he's scared to death."

 
"Oro/ it," I responded. "Let's go pack."

CHAPTER NINETEEN - The Final Scam

Dumonia and his psych computers had built a tremendously impressive psychological profile of Wagant Laroo over the years, back from when he first appeared on Cerberus. Like
all the
world's most powerful men throughout history, his one fear was assassination or even accidental death. This fear had actually been compounded, on Cerberus, where one had the potential of eternal life—and that was the kicker. By now Laroo felt almost omnipotent, but to feel like a god and know you were potentially mortal was unthinkable. The robot was the closest thing to total security he could ever hope to achieve. Even more, it would allow him to leave the Warden Diamond—and return—at will, thus making him certainly the most powerful man our spacefaring race had ever known. Surrounded by a small army of the more obedient sort of organic robots, he would be virtu-_ ally invulnerable. Freed from all wants and needs of the flesh, and armed with a mind that could operate with the swiftness and sureness of a top computer, he would be a monster such as mankind had never known.