Key to Survival

Chapter 24 Makers

Havoc spread his awareness. There was a town nearby, where living creatures existed. "Curiosity," he said.

"Concurrence," Weft agreed. "Was this planet resettled by another living culture? Why would the machines allow that?"

"Mystery. Maybe we should ask."

They both laughed, then reconsidered. Was that far-fetched? The machines knew they were here, and wanted them to learn their history. "What do you think, Iolo?" Weft asked.

"Ask them for a guide," the ifrit said. "This is a continuation of the tour."

"There must be a front office," Havoc said. He led the way around the warehouse to what appeared to be a lookout tower on the roof. "Ahoy!" he called.

A mounted device swiveled to orient on him. Shutters peeled back to bare a lens. It was looking at them. There was a blare of sound.

"We are human and ifrit tourists, here by invitation of the machines," Havoc said. "Please provide a guide to sights of interest." He was speaking enough to enable the machine to identify the dialect.

There was a whirring. Then the tower located the language. "One has been summoned." The lens was covered and the device turned away, its interest in them finished.

"We are dealing with low-level machines," Weft said.

"Not sapient," Havoc agreed. "Maybe not even sentient. This would seem to be a backwater world."

"The origin planet of the Makers and the machines? Doubt."

"If they wiped out all Makers here and imported servile living workers to maintain the premises on a standby basis, there would be no need for sophistication. It would be a backworld by default. Maybe a warning what will happen to Charm and Earth if we do not cooperate."

"They aren't too keen on human psychology," Weft muttered. She was speaking for machine reception, operating on the assumption that they were being constantly monitored. Of course human beings were far more ornery than such a blunt approach could fathom.

"Or so they prefer us to believe. I think there is some additional message, and that we had better understand it."

He was speaking for the machines too, but at the moment he suspected it was true. Why should the machines go to so much trouble to get them here, unless there was solid reason?

A vehicle with wheels linked by cleated metallic belts rolled up. "Caterpillar!" Weft exclaimed, sharing a memory Red had picked up from the real Weft, concerning a child prodigy.

"I am your tour guide and conveyance," the caterpillar said. "Please position yourselves on my supports."

"Are you sapient?" Havoc asked. "Or sentient?"

"Neither. I am a low level machine answering to my programming and the directives of those I transport."

"Male or female?" Weft asked.

"Neither. Low level machines lack gender."

"Then we shall call you Caterpillar," Weft said. "When one of us speaks that word, we are addressing you."

"Accepted."

They climbed to the elevated seats, and Iolo stood on the level deck in front of them. The vehicle rolled forward.

It carried them to a structure like a temple, with a tall spire and spreading gardens decorated with pleasant fountains. The air here was fragrant with the odor of exotic flowers. In shady alcoves there were soft-looking mats.

"Exclamation!" Havoc said. "Another mating site!"

Weft nodded. "Well..."

"We want the educational tour, not the horny tourist tour," Havoc told the carrier.

The vehicle resumed motion without apology, leaving the romantic temple. It trundled across the landscape. There seemed to be no established roads. Perhaps there had been some in the planet's heyday, but those had long since overgrown.

"Spoilsport," Weft muttered, making a move.

Havoc suppressed a sharp response. Weft remained a phenomenally lovely and sexy creature, but he did have other things on his mind at the moment. Still, there was no sense in aggravating her. "After the tour."

"I suppose it is the occasion for advancing our mission," she agreed. "But this experience reminds me that Glamors are not only magical, but have unusually high libidos, male and female. Not just the human ones; Warp and Voila report it is true for alien Glamors too."

"And for plant Glamors," Havoc agreed. "I had quite a session in a giant flower with all my women except you."

"I chickened out and swapped with Symbol. It was too public."

And this time she had swapped with Red. So Weft was not actually as desperate for sex with him as she liked to suggest. But had she elected to do it herself, she surely would have been much the way Red presented her. Certainly she was a highly sexual woman. As were all the Glamors. "It is true," he said. "Men love sex, whether they are Glamor or mortal. Mortal women usually pretend greater interest than they feel. But Glamor women are almost on a par with men."

"And some are not 'almost,' when with the right men." She gently squeezed his thigh. "But why should this be? Why should Glamors be so much hotter for sex than regular folk? It can't be to spread their kind, because the children of Glamors are normal, unless some few become Glamors."

"Conjecture: the same situation that sponsors Glamor magic enhances libido. The ikons make their bearers become more attractive, capable, and sexy. That enables them to better safeguard the ikons. They can literally seduce the opposition. The Glamors are like the ikons, only more so. They can win the favor of mortals by other means than magical. That is a buttressing advantage."

"Agreement. And when Glamor meets Glamor, the attraction intensifies." She sighed. "Even when there are social restraints."

The caterpillar was approaching the nearby town. There were a number of large walls with many open chambers.

In the chambers were huge, man-sized bugs, giant fat millipedes. Small machines hurried to and from the chambers, carrying what appeared to be food. They were feeding it to the bugs, who ate almost continuously. Their tail ends emitted wastes that other machines on the far side of the walls collected and carried away.

"A hive!" Havoc said. "Grubs serviced by worker machines."

"But what do they do once they are grown?"

"Ignorance." Havoc glanced down. "Caterpillar, can you explain?"

"They do nothing," the machine replied. "They do not depart. These are adults."

"Amazement! Aren't they bored?"

"They are entertained intellectually."

"Curiosity: how?"

"I will show you an unused domicile." The caterpillar rolled to a wall with a number of empty chambers. "You may inspect it."

They did. They got off the machine and peered into the nearest open chamber. It was not large, but long enough for a person to lie in full length. Havoc crawled in, lay on his back—and there just before his face the arching chamber ceiling became seemingly translucent, showing the sky. But there were many sold tiers of the wall above this chamber, so it had to be an image. A built-in screen. At the same time, there was sound, as words were spoken in an alien tongue.

After a moment it stopped being an image, and Havoc found himself standing in the scene. It was a beach with surging waves. He even smelled the spume. This was more than mere imagery; it was an avenue to first hand experience.

"They lie here feeding and the entertainment is brought to them," Weft said. "All day? All their lives?"

"Correct," Caterpillar agreed.

"And it is this way across the planet?" Havoc asked as he emerged from the cell.

"Correct."

"But why import laborers who do no labor?"

"Unable to answer."

Neither their clairvoyance nor their future seeing provided any answer either. All they saw was a vast extent of walls containing the big bugs being served by the little machines.

"Why do the machines do it?" Weft asked.

"It is our nature to serve."

"Who told you to do this?"

"The Makers."

Now was the crux. "What happened to the Makers?" Havoc asked. Would the machine repeat the information that they had been destroyed by the machines?

"Unable to answer."

"This is the problem with a low level machine," Weft said. "It can't appreciate context."

"We may simply be asking the wrong questions," he said. "Caterpillar, where are the Makers?"

"They are here."

"Where?"

"In the cells."

Havoc exchanged a look with Weft. "These—creatures—are the Makers?"

"Correct."

"They didn't die!" Weft said, amazed.

"That's why it couldn't say what happened to them," Havoc said. "Because nothing happened to them."

"Then what about the revolt? The machines' inexorable pursuit of the Makers?"

"We may have misconstrued a detail," he said wryly.

"But how could these indolent slugs ever accomplish anything? They can't be the Makers."

"Another detail."

She turned to Iolo. "Input?"

"Something must have happened fifty thousand years ago," he said. "That may be the key."

"So we need to learn what happened then. How do we do that?"

"Archives," Havoc said. "There must be records." He turned to the machine. "Caterpillar, where are the records?"

"Here."

"The video cells!" Weft said. "We can summon and play the relevant records!"

"By lying in the cells just like the slugs?" Havoc asked distastefully.

"Verify with your wider awareness. This is the way to find out."

He saw that it was so. "Stay alert, Iolo."

The ifrit nodded and started to vaporize. He would watch the whole area, and send them a telepathic warning if it was warranted.

Then Havoc and Weft climbed into adjacent cells and lay on their backs, staring into the screens. "The key event," he said. "For both of us."

There was a brief flicker. Then a scene formed. It was an obscure den with confusing equipment. A millipede—a Maker—was sprawled across a pile of sticks, several of its forelegs moving them about as its antenna touched them passingly.

And then it morphed into a more familiar scene, as the cell adapted to Havoc's nature. He was sitting in an Earth style office chair behind a desk, processing papers stamped CONFIDENTIAL, SECRET and TOP SECRET. He was the governor of the district, which included half a planet.

Things were difficult. A power supply had broken down, and he had to assign machines to fix it while he saw to the rerouting of power from another source. It was a somewhat delicate balancing act, because it was important not to divert too much power from its original destination, lest people suffer. Of course he could have let the machines supervise, but as a matter of principle he preferred to do it himself.

Secret documents to manage an ongoing power crisis? This did not makes sense.

The papers morphed into dials and other indicators set into his desk, making it a console. Now he was tracking the lines leading to the sectors, seeing their power levels. The animation had responded to his thought.

Actually the worst was over. He had sent the necessary directives, and now had merely to monitor the lines to be sure no further foul-ups occurred. It was dull but essential. Once he was certain the crisis was over, he would be able to relax completely.

At least he could let his support staff go home and catch up on lost sleep. He touched the intercom. "Ennui, send them home, and go home yourself. I have it under control."

"I will send them home, but will remain until you are through," she replied.

He sighed inwardly. Ennui was the finest and most loyal of staff, and he could not have run the government without her, but she did have an independent streak that was annoying at times. He would have to let her be. The truth was, he did appreciate her support. If he fell asleep, or made a mistake, she would be on it, courteously reminding him, so as to preserve his efficiency and his reputation. The intercom was mainly a formality; she could monitor him at any time, but would not intrude unless asked. "Appreciation."

Then he became aware of a new presence. Someone else was in the office, though the doorway had not been accessed. He twitched his right arm and a laser pistol dropped into his hand. He aimed it at the spot. "Intruder, show yourself."

A figure formed. It was a remarkably lovely woman, with long blond hair and a provocative outline. "You are alert, Governor Havoc," she said.

"And you are illicit. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

She smiled, brightening the day. "I am Weft, a representative of Escape. I am here to recruit you to our cause."

He was familiar with Escape. It was an organization dedicated to abolishing the machines, one of a number of lunatic fringe movements. He practiced tolerance in his territory, so he allowed them freedom as long as they did not impinge on the rights or convenience of others. "I regret you are wasting your time. I have a government to run, and it would collapse without the services of the machines."

"It will collapse with their services," she said. "I must satisfy you about that." She adjusted her décolletage.

He glanced at the indicators on the console. All were in order. He could afford some diversion of attention, and the Escape woman was quite interesting to observe. He tried to remember when he had seen a lovelier woman, and was drawing a blank.

"Escape sent you to attract my attention," he said. "So I would listen to your spiel."

Weft took a breath that briefly emphasized her breasts. "You object, Governor?"

"Call me Havoc." That was answer enough.

She laughed. That really emphasized her breasts, which seemed about to jump out of her halter.

"We are desperate. We do what we must. First I will try to persuade you by reason. Will you listen?"

"First tell me how you got in here without alerting the sensors. It's a matter of security."

She leaned forward, causing his eyes to be drawn involuntarily to her cleavage. He knew the exposure was intentional, but didn't mind. "Passkey. It cost us half a fortune in bribery to buy it, and it's only good for this hour. Your security has not been breached by any hostile agency."

"Good to know. Interesting qualification."

"Escape is not hostile, Havoc. I am not hostile. We merely have a job to do, as do you."

"This project of yours, to get rid of the machines. It is totally unrealistic. They are the core of our system. Without them we would be in instant anarchy."

"Conceded. Perhaps it would be more accurate to say that we don't want to completely destroy them. We want to control them."

"We do control them. They serve us completely."

"They do, in a manner. That is the problem. They will inevitably destroy us."

"There seems to be an ellipsis in your logic."

Weft angled her head, gazing at him. "I will address that in due course. But Escape has a larger mission than merely impressing you with the danger. I would like to review history with you."

Havoc smiled. This fabulously endowed creature was capturing his incidental fancy, as perhaps she intended.

"Take off your clothes and sit on my lap and you may review anything you wish with me."

"In due course, if necessary. But I prefer to do the review first."

"I was joking."

"I wasn't."

Intriguing. "Which specific history?"

"The origin of the machines."

"That is so far back as to be lost to our records."

"But there is a major conjecture that can be animated. That leads into my point."

"The origin of the machines will show why they must be abandoned?"

"Yes."

"Then you will sit on my lap?"

"Yes."

"And not before?"

She approached and sat on his lap, clothed. Her posterior was marvelously evocative, immediately inciting his urge to breed, and there was a musky mist about her that intensified it. "Would you be able to focus on history if I did this nude?"

He laughed. "I couldn't even focus on it clothed. Point made."

"In due course," she said again, lifting off that point.

"Those who sent you certainly knew how to get my attention."

"Yes. There was a selection process, and I was deemed the one most likely to succeed with you. You like my type."

"I am not certain of that. Your appearance is only one aspect of you."

"Yes. It was the other aspects that selected me."

Now he was really intrigued. "Let's proceed to history." He touched a button on the console, and the surface became a window into an appealing landscape. "Locale?"

"This." She handed him a disk. "It is fictionalized, but we think accurate in essence."

He pressed it into a slot on the console, and in a moment a new picture formed. It was of a male Maker, lurking at the edge of a Blue Chroma zone. Not far within it grew a tree bearing large blue bundles of substance. The Maker was clearly hungry for the fruit, but cautious about entering the magic zone.

Then the image shifted, and it was Havoc standing there, eying a large blue pear. He peered around, listened, and sniffed the air. There was an odor of predator, but it did not seem fresh. It was probably safe to go for the pear.

Suddenly another man charged past Havoc and lunged for the tree. He grabbed the pear, turned, and started back.

The predator was so swift it was just a huge blue blur. It caught the man in its jaws and crunched him in half with one bite. Then it picked up one half and gulped it down, keeping one paw on the other half in case it should try to escape. The predator was just an animal, not smart. But effective. It had half buried itself in dirt, masking its odor, and waited, perhaps for days, until the prey came for the pear. Now it was assimilating the half before tackling the other half.

Havoc was shaken. There, but for sheer chance, had gone his life. The Chroma zones were dangerous. But they were where the fruit was. Makers had to eat. That meant risking the zones.

The attrition rate was 99% per generation. Only one in a hundred Makers survived until breeding age. Then, fat with accumulated protein, they produced 100 offspring, and the attrition began again. It was a desperate existence.

Meanwhile the pear lay on the ground where the man had dropped it when chomped. It had rolled near the edge of the Chroma zone. Havoc fetched a long branch and poked it into the zone, trying to hook the fruit. The predator saw the motion and whirled, snapping at the branch. The wood flew up to either side, cleanly severed. And the pear, nudged, rolled on out of the zone.

Havoc picked it up and ate it. It was large, and filled his belly. Now he was close to having mass enough to breed.

Soon he would be prowling for a female.

But right now his mind worked on the problem of food. He had survived almost to maturity by cleverness and luck, but luck could not be trusted. There had to be a better way. Could he fashion a stick that could harvest fruit safely while he remained in the nonChroma zone?

Then he thought of another approach. That stick had served better as a distraction than a harvester. Its motion had attracted the attention of the predator. What about a stick intended as a distraction, so that a man could then dash across to fetch the fruit? It would be risky, but less risky than venturing into the zone without a distraction.

Havoc was an unusually smart Maker, which helped account for his survival so far; he had outlived 90 of his siblings. Intelligence, caution, and luck counted for much. He had been cautious about the pear; the other Maker had not been, and had died as a result. It was still luck, because Havoc had not known the other was there or that he would run out like that. But he hoped not to have to depend on further luck. So he turned his smarts to the project of making a predator distraction.

Something that could move on its own, so as not to require him to hold on to its end, as with the stick. Something that could roll, like the pear. Maybe a wheel. He knew of wheels; they were used on wagons to haul building supplies.

What about a little wagon, with four wheels, and something to make it go?

It took several days, but Havoc came up with a little wagon with a fifth wheel mounted on top, supporting a tightly stretched length of elastic vine. The vine was wound around the front axle, and when he let the wagon go, it pulled itself off the axle, causing the front wheels to turn, propelling the craft forward. It was far from perfect, but it worked.

He made several of them. Then he approached a Yellow Chroma zone where a banana tree grew. Several bananas were ripe. He smelled predator, and knew this was a trap. But this time he intended to spring it.

He released a wagon. He rolled toward the tree, making a satisfying scuttling noise because of the unevenness of the wheels.

And a yellow leopard pounced. It caught the wagon and bit down on it. There was a crunching sound as the teeth chomped through wood and vine. The elastic wire caught on a tooth, and the leopard pawed at it, trying to clear it. The predator was facing away from the tree.

This was the time. Havoc released another wagon to run in front of the creature. Then he ran behind it, to the tree. He grabbed a handful of ripe bananas and dodged back the way he had come. Meanwhile the leopard, with vine still dangling from its jaw, pounced on the second wagon. It hadn't yet learned that these moving things were inedible.

Havoc made it safely back with the fruit. His ploy had been a success!

That was the first machine.

Havoc survived until full maturity. Then he went prowling for a female. And there she was, fat and sassy. She was mature, but not quite ready to breed. She wanted to be assured he would survive long enough to complete her breeding cycle. Her name was Weft.

"I'll show you," he said. And he demonstrated the little wind-up wagons.

Weft was not stupid. No Maker who survived to maturity was. She immediately saw the advantage, and soon learned how to make wagons herself.

Then they mated. He was really potent and she was fully accommodating. He pumped a bolus into her cloaca, and they both suffered a transcendent orgasm.

During the next few hours she formed a massive egg and laid it in the protective hollow of an old tree. Then she went to fetch another meal, while Havoc guarded the egg. Soon she returned, fed, and he went for his own meal. Both needed to eat well for the continuing effort. Fortunately it was now much easier than it might have been, because of the wagons.

Next day they mated again, and he ejaculated another large bolus into her as they both had an extended climax.

The fact was, with a 99% attrition rate, mature Makers had to breed constantly as long as they lived. Few actually made it to a hundred eggs, but some non-survivors were able to lay ten or twenty before getting killed, so it averaged out.

After several days and several glorious matings, they were on hand to see the first egg hatch. It cracked open and two chicks emerged, a male and a female. Weft coughed up nutritious vomit for the female, and Havoc did the same for the male. Their family was on its way.

They taught the young ones the way of the wagons. This was effective; attrition was inevitable, but this devices reduced it to about 75%. In due course the offspring grew up to become breeders themselves, and now they had more sophisticated wagons that could actually pause and dodge to further deceive predators. Their line prospered. So did the primitive machines.

The history ended. Havoc was back at his console, and Weft was standing before him. "So with a 99% attrition, compensated by rapid breeding, evolution was rapid," she said. "But with the machines becoming ever more sophisticated, there came to be a problem."

"Overpopulation," Havoc agreed. "We still bred compulsively, but with twenty or twenty five times as many offspring surviving, there were soon too many of us."

"But the machines helped there too," she said. "They became able to forage themselves, so that Makers did not have to risk themselves at all. This increased the survival rate to more than 50%."

"And population pressure intensified. It got so that the main threat to a Maker was not any predator, but competition from other Makers. War came to our planet, and hunger, as resources were jealously hoarded."

"But still the machines helped," she said. "They began generating food from inanimate substances, feeding the hordes. They built larger structures to house the multitudes. The last of the predators were liquidated, and the Makers took over the whole planet. Then other planets, the machines exploiting their resources for our benefit."

"Which is where we are today," he concluded. "Confirming that we still need the machines, not to protect us, but to feed us, house us, and provide us intellectual diversion. So why do you want to abolish them?"

"Because they are doing too much for us," she said. "There is no longer any challenge to being a Maker. All Makers are guaranteed completely catered lives. None ever need to work to survive."

"What is wrong with that? We made the machines; we deserve the benefits."

"How many centuries since the last Maker invention?" she asked. "The last original Maker art?"

"Millennia," he said. "What is your point?"

"The machines are stifling us. They are making us become slothful parasites. They have removed all challenge to our lives. Existence without challenge becomes retrograde. We are doomed—unless we escape the services of our machines."

Havoc nodded, appreciating her point. "But just turning them off would be instant disaster. It would not be allowed."

"True. They can't be stopped that way. Instead we mean to escape them, by traveling to some far planet where we can live without machines. It will be difficult, and there will be a high rate of attrition, but our species will survive and advance. We are evolved to thrive during high attrition, and to progress despite it. That is our dream and our objective."

Havoc shrugged. "I wish you well. Why tell me this?"

"Because we need you."

He nodded. "I suspected there would be some reason for your presence here. You need me to authorize your ship's departure from a spaceport. Unlisted, so there will be no pursuit."

"More."

"Question."

"We need you to help us steal the ship."

He shook his head. "You want too much. For a willing tryst with you I might arrange to overlook a departure; such things are considered part of the privilege of office. But the theft of a ship is another matter, well beyond privilege."

"Yes, we want you to break the law," she said. "We don't expect you to do it cheaply. We know you are an honest and capable governor, perhaps the last in an age when corruption is endemic and mediocrity prevails. Surely you feel like a rose in a cesspool." The actual analogy was not quite that, as the Makers had no roses or cesspools, but the essence was similar. "We are gambling that your allegiance is to the welfare of the species, rather than to a law that others freely violate."

"My loyalty is to both."

"Now they conflict. The law will guarantee the destruction of our culture. You will have to choose between them."

"Let me verify my understanding," he said carefully. "You wish to steal a ship to convey your personnel to colonize another planet, leaving the machines behind. Because you believe that only in this manner can the innovative viability of our species be maintained. You want me to enable you to take that ship, though this would surely cost me my career."

"Yes, in essence."

"And you believe that I would so like to tryst with you that I will make this sacrifice?"

"No. We offer you more. We have reserved a place for you on that ship. I will marry you and bear your offspring."

Havoc whistled. "You are of course aware that I married long ago and sired my offspring. You want me to set that aside?"

"Your wife died last year. You are available. I am reserved for you. There will be no penalty for you because you will no longer be a part of this society. You will be a member of Escape, facing a significant new challenge."

"What, getting you to mate?"

She smiled. "That will be no challenge at all. I am eager to be with you. I am referring to the location and colonization of a planet unknown to today's authorities. Further, to the advancement of knowledge and technique that will make us more than we have been. To the forward progress of our species. With your participation we can become what we should be, instead of stagnating. This challenge surely appeals to you."

She was correct: Havoc would love to be a part of such an effort. But he did not want to throw away his present career on a bad gamble. "And if it does not?"

"We believe it does. But if reason does not suffice, perhaps romance will. You need a woman in your life. I am that woman. You have merely to do what is required to take me."

"I am to throw away other considerations for the love of you?"

"For the renewed challenge and the love of me." She stripped away her clothing and stood gloriously naked before him. "Now I will sit in your lap."

"This may be ill considered. If you give me sex without commitment, what reason will I have to commit?"

"The reason that you will crave more of it, and know that you will have it only by joining me on the ship."

"I could touch a button and summon immediate help," he said. "I could have you bound and reserved for me as a plaything. I do not need to be on a ship."

"I carry poison I can access before you could capture me. You would have to play with a dead woman."

"And where would that leave your mission?"

"It will survive without me. I am expendable. I will either recruit you or die, so as not to give away my associates. If I fail, Escape will try again in some other venue I know nothing about. Individuals may be sacrificed, but the mission must succeed. I would much prefer to win you to the cause, for myself and because I believe you have the most to contribute."

"I am a politician. I do not know advanced science or magic. Once I enable you to steal your ship and escape, my usefulness will be over. This would not be a great contribution."

"By no means. Your political skills are relevant. You would become our leader."

"And I could then direct you to turn yourselves and the ship in to the authorities."

"Not if you loved the challenge, and me."

"I find you delightful to look upon," he said, studying her nude perfection. "I would love to breed with you. But I do not love you, and am unlikely to do so in the future if I know your favors are purchased."

"Breed with me," she said. "Then you will love me."

He realized it was probably true. Breeding led to commitment, and while love normally preceded breeding, the two were interactive, and those who bred did normally come to love each other. "It is too much of a gamble," he said.

"I stand to risk too much, and the price of you is too great. But there is a third alternative for you: return to your people without success here, and regroup for an effort elsewhere. I will let you go."

"That is not an option for me. I already love you, and must have you or die."

"You do not know me!"

"I do know you. I have studied you. I know your ways. I value your competence and integrity, and your extraordinary capability. You are ideal for me, and I will do my best to be ideal for you."

He studied her face. "I decline. What is now your course?"

Weft sighed. "I regret this. I must take you by force."

"How could you do such a thing? I inquire as a matter of curiosity."

She stepped toward him moving her hands. Something filmy settled around him. Then the film coalesced, and he found himself bound in place. He struggled, but could not move. He could not even speak; film had fastened his mouth closed. He could only breathe, and watch her.

"It is a passive restraint," she said. "It will not hurt you if you don't fight it." She addressed his clothing, somehow managing to take it off him despite the film. There was evidently a technique.

When she had him naked, she adjusted his chair to lean back and make him effectively lie on his back. She straddled him, her thighs outside his, her knees beside his hips. She put her face down and licked his penis, which quickly stiffened. When it was turgid, she lifted her cleft over him, then guided his member as she lowered her body.

The head of his penis nudged her vagina, about to penetrate.

"Havoc." It was Ennui on the intercom. "An hour has passed without notice from you. Are you alert?"

"Frustration!" Weft said, holding her position. "You must answer. You can report me and end this now, or you can allow me to continue. The choice is yours." She reached across to touch the intercom switch as her other hand touched his mouth, dissolving the film there.

"I am alert," Havoc said. "I will be through soon. Carry on."

Weft turned off the intercom. "So I called your bluff," she said, and lowered herself the rest of the way. "I have dissolved all the film; you may move freely."

He did so, bucking to thrust strongly into her, jetting his passion. As he did so, he felt the surge of feeling. He was indeed coming to love her. This was a hormonal thing, but effective. "I had already decided," he gasped as his orgasm ran its course."

She kissed him. "Then why did you make me force you?"

"I wanted to verify that you had what it takes to fulfill your mission. It is evident that you do."

She laughed. "I don't believe it."

"Observe." He made no signal, and gave no audible command, but abruptly six armed men appeared in the office. "They have been watching all along. They interceded only when I chose. Ennui, too, was aware throughout."

Weft looked around, remaining on him, surrounding his penis. "I think I have been a fool."

"No. You made your case and acted as you saw fit. You are the woman I want, with the challenge I want, and I will join your mission. Now that I am sure that you are up to it."

"But if you could have stopped me any time—"

"A leader does not leave his personal safety to chance. I see that your group will need some instruction there. I will see to it. You do need me. But your mistake does not detract from your other qualities. You are worthy, and your mission is worthy."

"So you will let us take the ship?"

"It is being arranged now. You will need more supplies, so can't leave immediately, but it will happen."

"More supplies?"

"You surely have food, construction equipment, fuel, entertainment. You will also need an advanced technological and magical library."

"We won't make machines!"

"We won't make the kind of machines you oppose. We will need tools to accomplish our larger purpose."

"Larger purpose?"

"We are a type 2.5 culture, devolving. We need to advance. Otherwise the machines will come after us and catch us. We have to have information to build on."

She looked around. "But these men—they know. It can't be secret."

"These are robots. They don't care."

"Ennui isn't a robot."

"She will come too. You have room?"

"Yes." Weft finally thought to lift herself off him, clean up, and dress.

Havoc went to the console. "Now for those supplies," he said, touching buttons. "And some privacy."

The animation ended. Havoc was lying in the chamber. He climbed out as Iolo Ifrit condensed.

"Why did it stop?" he asked Caterpillar.

"The recording stopped there. The governor stopped it."

"Did the ship take off?"

"There is no record."

This was a low level machine. He rephrased the question. "Is there record of a missing ship?"

"Yes."

"Is there any further record of the governor, or of the woman?"

"No."

That spoke for itself. The escape mission had succeeded. "When did this happen?" Weft asked, joining them.

"Approximately fifty thousand years ago."

"And the machines set off after them?" Havoc asked. "When they discovered the governor and the ship missing?"

"Yes."

"But why?" Weft asked. "Since there was no machine revolt. Were they afraid the Makers would return to wipe them out?"

"No."

"Then why did they pursue the Escape group?" Havoc repeated, realizing that the simple machine had answered only the second question. Lower level machines were not great on context, as they had discovered before.

"To serve them."

Havoc and Weft exchanged a look of surprise.

"Not to destroy them?" Weft asked.

"Machines do not destroy Makers."

"But those Makers don't want to be served," Havoc said.

"Our prime directive is to serve."

"Even though this would destroy their initiative, making them slugs like those who remained here?"

"Our prime directive is to serve."

Machines were not much on reason, either. They simply followed their directive, regardless of the long-range consequences.

"But then why are the machines wiping out all other living cultures?" Weft asked.

"To find the Makers."

"Why not just ignore them?"

"They might be the Makers."

This required some discussion. It turned out that the machines were not sure they could recognize the escaped Makers, so they were conquering and studying other cultures to make quite sure they were neither the Makers nor capable of hiding the Makers. A destroyed culture could not hide any Makers. The machines were making a clean sweep, ensuring that in time they would locate the missing Makers without inadvertently destroying them. The rest of the galaxy might be extinct, but they would find and serve the Makers, completing their directive.

And the final question: "Why have you shown us this?"

"So you will help us find the Makers."

"We won't do that!" Weft exclaimed.

"Then we will continue our search."

A search that was destroying all other living cultures. The machines did not care what damage was done; they merely honored their prime directive.

"Suppose the Makers returned, so you could serve them?" Havoc asked.

"Then our search would be over."

And the rest of the galaxy would be saved.