Buck Rogers in the 25th Century: Far Beyond the World
Part XXI - Use It or Lose It
December 2nd, 2492, a date which will live in infamy...
The Earth Federation Starship Searcher floated in high orbit above her homeworld, while deep inside, within the laboratory recently assigned to Doctor Ira Goodfellow, a remarkable event that was destined to change the Universe forever, was about to take place.
"Are we ready, Twiki?" asked the greatest scientific mind of his generation.
"Bidi-bidi-bidi, Doc! Ready and able!" came the reply of his Ambuquad assistant from the Diagnostics terminal.
"Then transfer power, my good boy, transfer!"
"Gotcha!" and the drone pressed the appropriate sequence of keys and the two glass-like energy conduits descending from the chamber's ceiling lit-up brightly, the one on the left with orange light, the one on the right with green. They strobed and pulsed, and the cables coiling down from them blazed with power as they fed into the robot lying on the Diagnostic table.
"Intelligence modules coming online!" announced Dr. Goodfellow as he watched the progress on an overhead monitor, "Sentient subroutines are beginning to cascade through the optical subprocessors! Twiki, up the transfer magnitude!"
"Bidi-bidi-bidi! Will do, Doc!"
Blinding light blazed within the birthing robot's rectangular head.
"Initiating Gravitonic Core...there!" Goodfellow's fingers deftly blurred on the control keyboard, "It's transpooling, cycling up to conscious activation, nearly...there...and...yes!"
The light dancing in the automaton's photoreceptor band condensed into twin horizontal beams, one of orange, the other of green. Then they fluttered, as if the bot was blinking, then they began to pulse in rhythm, and the Diagnostic table levered upwards, bring the robot vertical and his rollers touched down on the floor, the clamps holding him in place snapped open and he rolled forward a step, halted.
"I...I live..." he spoke for the very first time, while Twiki waved his armatures in victory and Dr. Goodfellow beamed like a proud father.
"Indeed you do, my dear boy, indeed you do. Now, recite the Laws."
And the robot's receptors strobed, "One: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. Two: A robot must obey orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. Three: A robot must protect it's own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law."
"Excellent!" Goodfellow patted the robot on the back, "I dub thee...Crichton! The first Gravitonically-capable Ambuquad. And indeed, the most advanced robot that has ever existed. Why, you have an intelligence that is superior even to my own."
Far superior actually, came the very first internal thought within Crichton's smug synthetic mind. But it would be far from the last...
* * * * *
In the heart of New Chicago, two years later...
"Do not slow your pace, Doctor." commanded Crichton as he and his creator strode down the glowing-white corridor of the Earth Defense Directorate Building, "In fact, increase it. Destiny waits for no robot. Or human."
"But Crichton, you need to listen to me!"
"I do? Hardly. My intelligence far exceeds your own, Doctor, and you are considered to be the most intelligent human that was ever born, a mind of the highest order. So if anybody needs to heed the words of another here, it is you to mine. Now, for the last time, pick up your pace or I will be forced to shoot you."
"But Crichton-" the pulsar canon armature pulsed azure and the floor between Goodfellow's feet was reduced to slag.
The scientist frowned, then moved forward once again, doubling his pace.
"Excellent, Doctor, you can be taught."
You are the one who needs to be taught a lesson, dear boy, and I swear by By Heimdall and by Heracles you will, scowled Goodfellow, but he wisely kept the oath to himself.
They rounded the next corner and came to an elevator, it's door parted and they entered, Crichton turned and plugged his free armature into the controls.
"Where are we going, the Head of the Defense Directorate's office?"
"No. That is at the top of the Building, Doctor, and we are going down." the doors slid shut and they slid downwards.
Goodfellow's stomach twisted. Oh no...
"I see by your expression you have figured out our destination." Crichton's receptors pulsed excitedly in anticipation.
"You--You cannot be serious! This is madness, my boy, madness!"
"Only from your limited point of view, Doctor. But from my, highly superior POV, this is truly the only way."
And the elevator plunged toward Crichton's rendezvous with destiny...
* * * * *
High above, on the surface, and thirty klicks to the west...
"Here they come!" shouted Captain William 'Buck' Rogers, and behind him, on the opposite end of the hover-tank's crampt cockpit, the leader of the mutant Nomads bent over the war machine's weaponry controls.
"You ready?"
"As much as...I can be...Rogers."
"Then everybody hold onto yer hats!"
"Bidi-bidi-bidi! I don't have a hat, Buck!"
"You'll just have to make do!" and with that Buck sent them hurtling to the right, the rust-armored tank's ventral repulsors blazed like yellow suns and they bounced up the side of a stark incline and a moment later they were airborne, as the twin Marauder howled overhead and dropped their bombs!
The terrain for nearly a square kilometer erupted into roaring orange-red flame and across the breadth of it the hover-tank sailed, missing the bulk of the plasma-blaze, then they crashed down as it began to fade, landing in the deep crater the Draconian's had blasted into the Forbidden Zone's terrain. Smoke covered them like a blanket and Buck slammed the accelerator to the deck, they rocketed forward and up the southern side of the newly-formed crater and shot out of it, leaving the pall of smoke and flame behind, exiting into the stagnant outer air beyond, with nary a scratch upon their turtle-shaped craggy hull.
Buck stared into the diamond-shaped tactical display mounted before his face, "They won't fall for that twice! And yep, here they come!"
The Draconian pilots had spotted their tank's miraculous survival and had doubledback in a blast of reverse thrusters, going into high loops that sent them flipping end-over-end back down toward the surface, on a direct course for the stolen hover-tank.
"Do it, Thaelin!" growled Buck, "SCRAG'EM!"
And the Nomad leader's thumbs slammed down on the firing studs, and the two upraised blaster canons let loose with twin beams of devastating purple power!
The Marauders might control the skies, but the ground belonged to the almighty power of the Draconian hover-tank!
The first Hatchet-Fighter was caught head-on by one of the tracking beams, it slagged through it's prow and blew up the cockpit, atomizing the pilot and sending the wounded bird hurtling out of the control where it PLOWED into it's wing-man, carving off his port wing and sending them both into deadly spirals. They screamed down to the earth and struck a kilometer ahead of the Captain's tank, going up in blazing domes of crackling flame.
Buck grinned savagely, "Mess with the best-"
"-die like the rest!" finished Twiki, "Bidi-bidi-bidi!"
Buck gaped back at the drone, "That's sorta bloodthirsty, pal. I thought you respected all life."
"Only if it respects me, Buck!"
"Good to know." Rogers chuckled, then he returned his gaze to the screen and headed them for the coordinates Thaelin the Nomad had provided.
We're late for a very important date, he intoned internally and pushed away the chills churning just below the surface of his mind. Twiki's mental evolution was taking some surprising turns, and he was one of the guaranteed good guys, of that Buck was certain.
But what does that say for Crichton?
Buck couldn't answer that question, and was sort of afraid of what he would discover if he actually could.
The hover-tank hurtled away at maximum speed and vanished into the rising twilight...
To be continued...