The Rising Sea (NUMA Files 15)

“We have to trust Rudi on this,” Gamay said. “He’s obviously got something in mind.”

Paul nodded. “Can we borrow the van?”

Mel shook her head. “And lose my exclusive on the biggest story ever? Not on your life. You two share the coffee. I’ll drive.”

48

HASHIMA ISLAND

WALTER HAN watched as the robotic facsimiles of Kurt Austin returned to the workbenches and lay down. The movements were both as smooth and as awkward as any human’s. One machine limped where a shot from Austin’s gun had damaged its leg. It hopped up on the bench, favoring the injured leg and grasping for balance as it reclined. Reddish liquid oozed from the bullet wounds and soaked the right leg and torso.

The second robot was undamaged.

“Hydraulic fluid?” Han asked.

“No,” Gao said. “We used a layer of gel between the artificial skin and the inner structural panels. It creates a supple feeling and allows a constant body temperature of ninety-eight-point-six degrees. If you shake the machine’s hand, it feels like muscular grip beneath the soft flesh—as it should. The hand also feels warm. One of the technicians decided to color the gel so it looked roughly like blood in case the robot was damaged.”

Han reveled in such details. “Give that man a bonus,” he said. “I wouldn’t have thought of that myself.”

Studying the robot, Han almost hoped it would be “wounded” on the mission. He would then put a bullet in Austin in exactly the same manner. A touch that would erase any doubt as to Austin’s guilt, once his body was found.

The robot deftly unbuttoned its own shirt, revealing another wound. “How many bullet strikes?”

“Four on the primary machine. A superficial wound on the backup,” Gao said. “I can’t believe Austin was able to fire so quickly and accurately. Although the spread of impacts shows them to be quite random. ‘Lucky shots,’ as the Americans say.”

“Not lucky for us,” Han said. “Nor do I think the shots were random. Austin is very astute. He realized what we were planning and was trying to disable the machine, even if it meant his life. By targeting four different areas of the robot, he was more likely to do permanent damage.”

“Let’s hope he hasn’t done so,” Gao said, then turned to the robot. “Lie down flat. Transmit diagnostic report to the main computer.”

The machine lay back and went still. Han had insisted on complete realism and for that reason there were no ports or power plugs hidden under the hairline or the body panels. All data and power regeneration was done wirelessly.

“We can always switch to the backup,” Han noted.

“I wouldn’t,” Gao said. “This machine began its training first. It progressed faster. The backup is inferior.”

“They’re the same.”

Gao shook his head. “Despite a common belief that all machines are identical, it’s simply not true. Minute differences in the construction of the components create physical differences. A slightly less efficient servo here, a fractional change in hydraulic pressure there. Even different operating temperatures cause different physical responses. Combine that with the way our artificial intelligence system learns how to mimic human actions—by trial and error and without constant outside direction—and one machine slowly proves its superiority over the other.”

Han understood this. He was just surprised it could be so large a difference. “Austin must have sensed it. That’s why he concentrated his fire on this one.”

“You’re giving him too much credit.” Gao pointed to the facial wound. “Austin made a mistake firing at the skull. He must have assumed that a human-looking machine had a human-like physiology, and so he fired at the head because that’s where the brain must be. My guess is, he hoped to hit the robot’s hard drive or the CPU. But unlike a human’s, our robot’s brain is not in the skull; it’s hidden away, near the right hip, to prevent exactly that. All Austin did was deform the face covering and damage one optical processor.”

Gao took out a scalpel and cut away the skin at the neck, before pulling the face cover, hair and scalp off. He tossed it in the garbage like a used Halloween mask. “Not salvageable.”

He turned to one of his assistants. “Get the 3-D printer up and running. Make sure the polymer mix is right. We’ll need a new facial covering and a lower skin panel for the right leg. We’ll also need an optical processor and a secondary hydraulic assembly.”

“How long is this going to take? We have to be off the ground in an hour.”

“Thirty minutes,” Gao said. “No longer.”

Han nodded. “Get to it. And have your other technicians work up a Zavala facsimile. Use the Austin backup as the underlying chassis. Adjust the size and shape.”

“We won’t have time to perfect it,” Gao said. “We don’t have video or voiceprints of Zavala.”

“He’s available,” Han said. “Get them for him now. It doesn’t have to be perfect. But I want both of them seen at the pavilion.”

Gao nodded. “I’ll get it done.”