Argus remembered with chilling clarity the dry, brittle pages of a stack of books from his childhood. When he was still Gus Thorsen and a kid, he had found the books in a chest of drawers, inside a shack, in the Australian desert. He read them in secret, not telling anyone else, and the images and words told of other times.
An old book about Muhammad Ali had impressed him deeply, and he had decided then that he wanted to become a boxing champion. Twenty-six years later, Gus Thorsen's dream had come true, but by then the title had lost its significance to the world.
In another forgotten book, he read about the many wars of the insane 20th century, and the bombs that lay waste to cities in brief flashes of energy. Those weapons had long ago been dismantled, turned to resources in the drive to colonize the planets - before fusion power was made safe and ubiquitous. And he was being trained to use a ship that was infinitely more dangerous than an atom bomb...
Argus went to look for the trainers. A guard robot informed him that the trainers were occupied.
"I just need to talk to someone. Anyone."
The faceless robot guardian made a pre-programmed suggestion out of context - not an unusual occurrence in the early 22nd Century. Defense contractors often saved money by using software from civilian products in military robots, and vice versa. This model was thus a distant relative of a commercial robot on Earth.
"When you feel lonely," it said in its droning guard-style monotone, "you should get a new Personal Assistant. You can always trust your 'Pa' to lend a helping hand, to listen and give advice. 'Pa' is that good old-fashioned cybernetic tradition that never goes out of style. Order your 'Pa' now!"
"I never had a 'Pa'." He turned his back on the robot. "I had a dog." He climbed back up into the flight simulator's cockpit, and played absentmindedly with the control panel.
"If only this panel had a voice-box," he muttered.
A message flashed in a corner of the ship's tactical display:
VOICE MODE ON.
"Hello," Argus said unenthusiastically.
"Hello," replied the ship computer's voice from a hidden speaker. Its volume and speed were set to human range; it sounded like a butler robot - a thin, alert person of indeterminate age, eager to please. "Request?"
"Just talk to me."
"Topic?"
"Who are you?"
"Your ship's Navbutler, short for Navigation Backup Terran Link Computer, Prototype Two. Subsystems include engine controls, flight-recorder, weapons system, tactical, life support, Fleet Central com-link, and service unit."
"You're aware you're not 'in' a real ship yet, are you? This is a flight-simulator."
"Pardon?"
"This is all pretend," Argus pointed out to the machine. "We're still in simulation."
"If this is a simulation, are you the real pilot or a simulated one?"
Argus laughed, and it felt good.
"Pardon?" asked the computer again - conversation was not its strongest feature.
Now Argus laughed hard.
"Please try to sit still. Health check in progress... Argus system status, stable."
"What are you, my mother?"
"No."
"But you will be in my ship, as you are now, when it's complete?"
"An updated version of this Navbutler will be in place on F-903 Class A."
"Good. Better get to know me, because I have a hunch we're related. Part of the 'big talking gizmo' family."
"Define 'gizmo'."
"Whatchamcallit, thingamajig, whatsitsname, thingy."
"Define 'thingy'."
"Can't."
"Please define 'thingy'."
"You really need to know?"
"Yes."
"Just how smart are you, Navbutler?"
"Request my origin?"
"Affirmative."
"Navbutler, Prototype Two, derived from parental programs in Fleetcom subsystems."
"Did you have a specific human designer?"
"No. I was generated at a request from Fleet Command. A 'bot' program searched the Fleetcom database and spawned a batch, from which I was selected through the standardized Darwin Sequence. My intelligence is lower than human average. Speed factors can compensate."
"I'll give you that, you were made for speed. Good."
"Thank you."
"Are you coded for emotional response?"
"Prognosis: uncertain."
Argus laughed again, and patted the ship's wall encouragingly. After a little coaxing, he arranged for Navbutler to set up an encrypted com-link between them, so that Argus could accept direct laser transmissions into his eye. Even if the two were separated by a long distance, Navbutler would be able to reach Argus through one of the countless laser links in the Solar System.
Soon, Argus started to ask Navbutler about the things that "Colonel Clarke", his dead double, was supposed to know.
"Nav, can you show me data on... strategy and organization?"
Navbutler used its extensive access to the Fleetcom databases, and a world of information opened up to Argus. He asked if there was a faster way to sort and read the immense files.
"Do you have a serial port?" the ship computer asked him.
Argus shuffled through his internal menu system, until he found a body map. The visual display in his view showed a full 3-D image of Argus that could be searched from top to bottom, from the whole to the minutest detail.
"There's too much to search."
"Use a 'Search' command," Navbutler suggested.
Argus formed the command "SEARCH FOR SERIAL PORT" on his internal display. In a fraction of second, the 3-D body image zoomed in on a spot on his left palm...
THE CORTEX PORT OPENS THE FIBEROPTIC LINK TO DIGITAL/ANALOG SIGNALS IN THE 100-1000 MEGACYCLES BAND. ARE YOU AUTHORIZED TO OPEN CORTEX PORT?
Argus chose a definite "YES" command.
CORTEX PORT OPENING... CAUTION... DO NOT EXPOSE TO DUST, FRICTION...
Argus looked at the center of his upturned palm: a tiny disc-shaped section of it irised out, to reveal a ring of pin-sized holes - and a smaller ring of metal pins, a millimeter high, inside it.
"Nav," he asked, holding up his palm to the instrument panel where he knew there was a camera, "is this port compatible with any other systems you know?"
"Search inside Fleetcom, or universal search?"
Argus wondered for a moment if he was compatible with a whole line of robots somewhere in the Solar System... and it struck him then, that there might be similar cyborg prototypes - something Boulder Pi never told him about.
"Search for... compatible systems designed by Boulder Pi."
"Searching..."
It took longer than he had expected; at this point, he did not fully realize how vast cyberspace was. Navbutler had not only Fleetcom at its disposal, but also - through a network of satellites, laser links and space nodes - all of the Inner Planets to search.
***
Argus was reading up on military strategy and had just learned that Napoleon was a pompous, megalomaniac little creep, when Navbutler came back to him. Two hours had passed.
"What took you so long?" Argus asked.
"Communication between planetary systems travels at the speed of light. Signals from Mars take several minutes to travel in either direction."
"List results on... wait... is this communication private?"
"Access to ship system is limited to flight trainers and the Kansler."
"Who has access to... to my internal databanks?"
"Only you, Argus. Direct access is limited to Serial Port, by manual connection only. Any other access unknown to me."
"Meaning, they can't transmit anything in or out of my brain by radio or laser or anything?"
"Yes."
"Right. Can you give me the list of compatibles in way that cannot be intercepted?"
"Navbutler suggestion: Direct optic transfer subsystem. Direct your left eye at laser port on panel. Set your visual receptivity to 'LOW', to avoid overheating the receptor membrane."
Argus did so, and told Navbutler to transmit. A laser projector on the ship's panel sent the files as optic images directly onto his retina, where he could see them in vivid color and imagery...
UNITS COMPATIBLE WITH ARGUS-A:
1: CYBORG ASSEMBLY UNIT ER-64385-2118-C
PRESENT LOCATION: LUNAR RESEARCH COMPLEX - ACCESS DENIED
2: PROTOTYPE CYBORG COMBAT CHASSI
PRESENT LOCATION: LUNAR RESEARCH COMPLEX - ACCESS DENIED
3: COMMAND CENTER, E.S.S. WILLIAM JEFFERSON, FLAGSHIP CLASS
PRESENT LOCATION: LUNAR ORBIT
4: THE VENIX PROJECT - ACCESS DENIED
PRESENT LOCATION - ACCESS DENIED
"What is 'The Venix Project'?" he asked, immediately regretting that he'd asked.
"Searching... your authorization level is not high enough. Sorry."
Argus thought for a moment, and got a wild hunch. This was just a computer he was talking to - not much smarter than those thickheaded guard robots. It had to have a programming glitch somewhere...
"Nav... can you tell me if the present location of The Venix Project is NOT on the Moon?"
"Yes."
"Well, is it NOT on the Moon?"
"Yes."
"Is it NOT on the Jovian satellites, or any of the Outer Planets?"
"Yes."
"Is it NOT on Venus or any of its orbital stations?"
"...yes."
"Is it NOT on Earth?"
"Classified information. Sorry."
Argus chuckled - it sounded a bit odd with his synthetic speech - incredible, how easy computer programs were to trip!
"Okay, you can close my access to Fleetcom, Nav. I... I think I need a little rest."
"Navbutler suggests: recreational software. Games? Sims? Sports events? How about last year's Martian Skysurfing Grand Prix? " Navbutler must have registered the sudden change in Argus's posture, for it changed its tone quickly. "Please suggest a sports event," it asked.
"Boxing, traditional type, live events," Argus replied without a moment's pause - wondering if he had begun to sound and think like a computer.
"Searching... wait... no public boxing events are in progress right now. Search for previous events?"
Argus nodded.
"Searching... last public boxing event is six weeks old. The Boxing Federation of the Inner Planets has been dissolved due to a low popularity index. Play last event?"
Argus sat up and stared at the blank viewplate. An involuntary reflex caused his hand to search his pockets for the Boxing Federation membership card - but he no longer wore clothes or pockets - and the card had been lost in the aircraft explosion.
"No boxing matches... anywhere?"
"Seek the public cam networks for unscheduled fights?"
"No... forget it."
"Erase previous request - yes, no?"
"Yeah... yes."
In a state of shock, Argus climbed down from the simulator and sleepwalked to his quarters. He was, or had been, the last heavyweight boxing champion. There might never be another one. His body felt heavy as lead, as if his internal batteries were running down.
***
A week later, the Kansler met with Boulder Pi and a few top-level officers of the Fleet.
"I agree with Boulder Pi," the Kansler admitted, surprising the others. "And not just for the sake of Colonel Clarke's morale. It is important to the Fleet, to the Terran public, that we show results soon. But Argus must be sizzle and steak. He must prove to everyone that he is powerful, invincible, loyal to the Fleet and to Mother Earth. Children must not be afraid to sit in his lap. And we have to allow Argus some limited incognito movement on Earth, for... recreation. I'll tell you later."
Both the Kansler and Boulder Pi thought - again - of all the champagne glasses that Argus had shattered, and what might happen to a human in his hands. Boulder went a little pale.
"I have completed for you an outline of the P.R. tour, Kansler," said General Boudiou, head of the Fleet Marketing Department. "Look here. In just one week, we can saturate public awareness of Argus-A. Kids will love him, especially with the personality change that Colonel Clarke underwent after he was... rebuilt. The simulation footage you've shown us is extremely good publicity. He's jovial, he jokes, he raps... he's incredibly fast! How does he do it?"
"Ask Boulder Pi," the Kansler smiled. "Our wizard of cyborg science."
"Thank you, Kansler," said Boulder. "Now, about this P.R. tour I'd like to give some advice..."
Argus wasn't consulted. After all, he was property.
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