The Medusa Chronicles by Stephen Baxter Read Free Book Online Page A

no time.”
    Conseil rolled up to Falcon, the only one paying it any attention, a drinks tray still held in one manipulator claw. “May I serve you?”
    Falcon said, intrigued, “I don’t know. How can you serve us?”
    â€œHazard to vessel integrity identified. Rectification options surveyed.” It dropped the tray, which landed softly on the carpeted floor, raised its crude arms, and snapped its pincer-like hands.
    Now everybody was staring. Webster asked, “Captain, I don’t suppose Conseil is equipped to work underwater?”
    Embleton frowned. “Certainly. How else could it deliver cocktails to guests in the swimming pool?”
    Falcon asked urgently, “And do you think it really has identified ‘rectification options’?”
    Embleton glanced at Moss, who said nervously, “Well, sir, it is a flexible, autonomous unit, equipped to operate in a complex, unpredictable human environment—”
    â€œHe means,” Embleton said dryly, “guests are even more difficult to handle than a bomb on a porthole.”
    â€œI’d say it’s possible, sir.”
    Webster grinned. “It’s worth a try, damn it.”
    Embleton nodded sharply. “Lieutenant Moss, it’s your baby. Equip this toy to get that leech off my window.”
    Moss nodded. “Give me five minutes, sir. Conseil! Follow me . . .”
    *  *  *  *
    From within the Observation Lounge, the party had a grandstand view as the little robot, supported by flotation bags, working a thruster gun with one manipulator claw, loosened the “leech” from the window with the other claw. Robot hands designed for mixing cocktails, detaching a bomb from a nuclear submarine.
    Then, when the job was done, Conseil returned to the Observation Lounge—its hull dinged, water dripping from its squat frame—to a round of admiring applause. In a showy gesture, Captain Embleton bent down and shook its claw of a hand. Ham, the simp ambassador, clapped the robot on the back.
    Webster murmured, “A shame President Jayasuriya isn’t here. We’re seeing history being made.”
    Dhoni was intrigued by the robot. “Makes you think, Howard. Here’s two of the solar system’s greatest heroes, and there was nothing you could do when the crisis came. Whereas this little guy . . .”
    Falcon grunted. “Maybe we need smarter robots after all.”
    Springer nodded sagely. “I think you’re right, Commander. My great-to-the-fourth-grandfather was the first true astronaut hero. But maybe because of his feat we’ve been too dazzled by the human factor to consider other possibilities. We’ve got marvellous spacecraft and other heavy mechanical engineering, but we’ve contented ourselves with only modest progress in computing.” He glanced at the minisec in his hand. “Why, our smartest gadgets—aside from experiments like Conseil—are no more capable of independent thought than Grandpa Seth’s 1960s slide rule. We’ve kept our machines subservient.”
    Webster nodded sagely. “You used the argument yourself, Howard, when you pitched the Kon-Tiki mission. Jupiter’s atmosphere was going to be a tricky environment, with high-speed winds, turbulence, electrical storms and whatnot. To pilot the ship was going to need skill and experience and swift reaction times, and you couldn’t yet program all that into a computer . . .”
    â€œWell,” Springer said, “today we’ve seen what machines can do, if only we let them off the leash.”
    â€œYou’re right, Captain Springer,” Embleton said. “This humble Conseil will never be forgotten. The machine that saved the President—that’s how the headline writers will have it. The machine that went where no human could go.”
    â€œNot even you, Commander Falcon,” said Hope Dhoni, and