Unicorn Point

Nevertheless, he waited till no worker machines were in the immediate vicinity before acting. Then he spoke the code, quietly, not expecting any prompt response. Troubot was the name she had taken during her hiding; what could answer that call now?

A portage machine trundled by, carrying a load of packages of white powder. Bane stepped out of its way.  “Troubot,” it murmured as it passed.

Well! “Make the delivery Nepe calls in,” he said.

Troubot stacked the bags and maneuvered to turn around.

“Of what nature?”

“Ten-gallon tub o’ ice cream.”

The machine trundled away toward the maintenance alcove, evidently to get an ice cream carrying body. Thus it would be ready to respond to the order, seemingly coincidentally.

Mach walked on out of the warehouse, unhurried. He merged with the traffic of the hall beyond: serfs, androids and lesser robots. There was always activity around warehouse areas, because the needs of Citizens and their serfs were constant. No sensors were tracking him at the moment; in the course of nine years he had come to know the capacities of this robot body well, and could now do things with it that Mach himself could not, because his living human mind was superior to the best that a machine mind could be. He could detect sensors, having modified this body some time back to do so. It was a great advantage! He had set things up, but he needed a pretext to dawdle while the ice cream was delivered. The Citizens would be least likely to suspect Agape of making her escape before Bane arrived to see her after two weeks’ absence. But it would be suspicious if he delayed; he normally had one thing in mind at such times.  Well, he would not delay; he would be delayed by an out side party. It was time to exploit another hidden feature of this body.

He tuned in on a paging station. He sent a signal that mimicked its control sequence, as if a call were coming through.  A call seeking Bane himself.

“Bane,” the loudspeakers of the vicinity blared. “Incoming call. Please pick up at convenient unit.”

“Damn!” Bane said, as if displeased. He walked to the nearest public phone station. “Bane here,” he snapped. “Be this call important? I be on my way to—“

“It will take only a moment,” a dulcet female voice cut in. He was generating it electronically in his own body, but it sounded authentic, and any recording would sound authentic also. It was almost impossible to trace the origin of local calls unless special procedures were invoked. “I am a visiting journalist, and I just wanted to—“

“I know thee not, nor any journalists,” he said.

“Look, I have been away for two weeks and have naught to—“

“Please, this will be very brief. I believe you are the only self-willed robot to have a—“

“I be not a rovot! I be a living man!”

“Beg pardon? I understood that—“

So it continued: his irate explanation that he was actually a man in a robot’s body, for an interviewer who had difficulty getting that straight. He played both parts with a certain vigor, pleased with his imagination. By the time he finally won free of the persistent caller, almost half an hour had passed, and he appeared fit to explode.

He hurried on to his rendezvous with Agape. By this time, he trusted, Nepe should have explained, Troubot would have arrived with the ice cream, and Agape would have rejected such a ridiculous order—and melted and gone out with Troubot in lieu of it. There was still about an hour to the departure of the ship for ConGlom: sufficient time to trundle there with out haste. All he had to do was make sure that the Citizens did not catch on before the ship took off.  He reached the suite, and touched the panel. His hand was coded for it; it opened and let him in.  He paused, checking the security. There were supposed to be no electronic spies operating within, but he never took that on faith. His own electronic mechanisms traced the circuits, verifying that all were accounted for. It was all right; nothing had changed. That meant that he could talk freely, here.

He entered the main chamber. Agape was there, standing behind a chair. He suffered a siege of alarm—then relaxed.  “Very good, Nepe,” he said. “Thou dost resemble her exactly.”

“Did I fool you for an instant, Daddy?” she demanded eagerly.

“For an instant,” he agreed. “Longer, had I not known thou wouldst not fail me.” He strode across the room and enfolded her, embracing her as if she were her mother.

“Easy, Daddy,” she said. “I’m standing on the ice cream.” So she was. Her natural mass was less than half that of Agape, so she had perched on the top of the oblong container, and formed only that portion of the body from the narrowing of the waist up. She had done a superlative job; the breasts were full and perfect in their contours and heft, the arms were completely functional, and the neck and head so apt that it was hard to believe this was an emulation. Of course the original Agape was an emulation, which perhaps made it easier. Still, it was impressive.