A Spaceship Named McGuire Read online

inside my own room, I checked over my luggage carefully. It hadbeen brought there from the spaceport, where I'd checked it beforegoing to Ravenhurst's Raven's Rest, on orders from Ravenhurst himself.This was one of several rooms that Ravenhurst kept permanently rentedfor his own uses, and I knew that Jack kept a complete wardrobe in herown rooms.

  There were no bugs in my luggage--neither sound nor sight spyingdevices of any kind. Not that I would have worried if there had been;I just wanted to see if anyone was crude enough to try that method ofsmuggling a bug into the apartment.

  The door chime pinged solemnly.

  I took a peek through the door camera and saw a man in a bellboy'suniform, holding a large traveling case. I recognized the face, so Ilet him in.

  "The rest of your luggage, sir," he said with a straight face.

  "Thank you very much," I told him. I handed him a tip, and he poppedoff.

  This stuff was special equipment that I hadn't wanted Ravenhurst oranybody else to get his paws into.

  I opened it carefully with the special key, slid a hand under theclothing that lay on top for camouflage, and palmed the littledetector I needed. Then I went around the room, whistling gently tomyself.

  The nice thing about an all-metal room is that it's impossible to hidea self-contained bug in it that will be of any use. A small, concealedbroadcaster can't broadcast any farther than the walls, so any bug hasto have wires leading out of the room.

  I didn't find a thing. Either Ravenhurst kept the room clean orsomebody was using more sophisticated bugs than any I knew about. Iopened the traveling case again and took out one of my favoritegadgets. It's a simple thing, really: a noise generator. But the noiseit generates is non-random noise. Against a background of "white,"purely random noise, it is possible to pick out a conversation, evenif the conversation is below the noise level, simply becauseconversation is patterned. But this little generator of mine wasnon-random. It was the multiple recording of ten thousand differentconversations, all meaningless, against a background of "white" noise.Try that one on your differential analyzers.

  By the time I got through, nobody could tap a dialogue in that room,barring, as I said, bugs more sophisticated than any the UnitedNations knew about.

  * * * * *

  Then I went over and tapped on the communicating door between my roomand Jack Ravenhurst's. There was no answer.

  I said, "Jack, I'm coming in. I have a key."

  She said, "Go away. I'm not dressed. I'm going to bed."

  "Grab something quick," I told her. "I'm coming in."

  I keyed open the door.

  She was no more dressed for bed than I was, unless she made a habit ofsleeping in her best evening togs. Anger blazed in her eyes for asecond, then that faded, and she tried to look all sweetness andlight.

  "I was trying on some new clothes," she said innocently.

  A lot of people might have believed her. The emotional field she threwout, encouraging utter belief in her every word, was as powerful asany I'd ever felt. I just let it wash past me and said: "Come into myroom for a few minutes, Jack; I want to talk to you."

  I didn't put any particular emphasis into it. I don't have to. Shecame.

  Once we were both inside my shielded room with the walls vibratingwith ten thousand voices and a hush area in the center, I saidpatiently, "Jack, I personally don't care where you go or what you do.Tomorrow, you can do your vanishing act and have yourself a ball, forall I care. But there are certain things that have to be done first.Now, sit down and listen."

  She sat down, her eyes wide. Evidently, nobody had ever beaten her ather own game before.

  "Tonight, you'll stay here and get some sleep. Tomorrow, we go for atour of Viking, first thing in the morning. Tomorrow afternoon, assoon as I think the time is ripe, you can sneak off. I'll show you howto change your appearance so you won't be recognized. You can have allthe fun you want for twenty-four hours. I, of course, will be huntinghigh and low for you, but I won't find you until I have finished myinvestigation.

  "On the other hand, I want to know where you are at all times, so thatI can get in touch with you if I need you. So, no matter where youare, you'll keep in touch by phoning BANning 6226 every time youchange location. Got that number?"

  She nodded. "BANning 6226," she repeated.

  "Fine. Now, Brock's agents will be watching you, so I'll have tofigure out a way to get you away from them, but that won't be toohard. I'll let you know at the proper time. Meanwhile, get back inthere, get ready for bed, and get some sleep. You'll need it. Move."

  She nodded rather dazedly, got up, and went to the door. She turned,said goodnight in a low, puzzled voice, and closed the door.

  Half an hour later, I quietly sneaked into her room just to check. Shewas sound asleep in bed. I went back to my own room, and got some sacktime myself.

  * * * * *

  "It's a pleasure to have you here again, Miss Ravenhurst," said ChiefEngineer Midguard. "Anything in particular you want to see this time?"He said it as though he actually enjoyed taking the boss' teenagedaughter through a spacecraft plant.

  Maybe he did, at that. He was a paunchy, graying man in his sixties,who had probably been a rather handsome lady-killer for the firsthalf-century of his life, but he was approaching middle age now, whichhas a predictable effect on the telly-idol type.

  Jack Ravenhurst was at her regal best, with the kind of _noblesseoblige_ that would bring worshipful gratitude to the heart of anyunderling. "Oh, just a quick run-through on whatever you think wouldbe interesting, Mr. Midguard; I don't want to take up too much of yourtime."

  Midguard allowed as how he had a few interesting things to show her,and the party, which also included the watchful and taciturn ColonelBrock, began to make the rounds of the Viking plant.

  There were three ships under construction at the time: two cargovessels and a good-sized passenger job. Midguard seemed to think thatevery step of spacecraft construction was utterly fascinating--forwhich, bully for him--but it was pretty much of a drag as far as I wasconcerned. It took three hours.

  Finally, he said, "Would you like to see the McGuire-7?"

  Why, yes, of course she would. So we toddled off to the new ship whileMidguard kept up a steady line of patter.

  "We think we have all the computer errors out of this one, MissRavenhurst. A matter of new controls and safety devices. We feel thatthe trouble with the first six machines was that they were designed tobe operated by voice orders by any qualified human operator. Thetrouble is that they had no way of telling just who was qualified. Thebrains are perfectly capable of distinguishing one individual fromanother, but they can't tell whether a given individual is a spacepilot or a janitor. In fact--"

  I marked the salient points in his speech. The MG-YR-7 would bestrictly a one-man ship. It had a built-in dog attitude--friendlytoward all humans, but loyal only to its master. Of course, it waslikely that the ship would outlast its master, so its loyalties couldbe changed, but only by the use of special switching keys.

  The robotics boys still weren't sure why the first six had goneinsane, but they were fairly certain that the primary cause was thematter of too many masters. The brilliant biophysicist, Asenion, whopromulgated the Three Laws of Robotics in the last century, had shownin his writings that they were unattainable ideals--that they onlytold what a perfect robot _should_ be, not what a robot actually was.

  The First Law, for instance, would forbid a robot to harm a humanbeing, either by action or inaction. But, as Asenion showed, a robotcould be faced with a situation which allowed for only two possibledecisions, both of which required that a human being be harmed. Insuch a case, the robot goes insane.

  I found myself speculating what sort of situation, what sort ofAsenion paradox, had confronted those first six ships. And whether ithad been by accident or design. Not that the McGuire robots had beenbuilt in strict accord with the Laws of Robotics; that was impossibleon the face of it. But n
o matter how a perfectly logical machine isbuilt, the human mind can figure out a way to goof it up because thehuman mind is capable of transcending logic.

  * * * * *

  The McGuire ship was a little beauty. A nice, sleek, needle, capableof atmospheric as well as spatial navigation, with a mirror-polished,beryl-blue surface all over the sixty-five feet of her--orhis?--length.

  It was standing upright on the surface of the planetoid, a shiningneedle in the shifting sunlight, limned against the star-filleddarkness of space. We looked at it through the transparent viewport,and then took the flexible tube that led to the air lock of the ship.

  The ship was just as beautiful inside as it was outside. Neat,compact, and efficient. The control room--if such it could becalled--was like no