Code of the Lifemaker By James P. Hogan

strange metabolism that was coming into being. Regardless of what the Schedulers

in the various factories would have liked to see made, the only things that

could be assembled readily were the ones for which parts were available, and

that depended to a large degree on the ability of the scavengers to locate them,

or alternatively to locate assemblies suitable for breaking down—”digesting”—and

rebuilding into something useful. Factory Twenty-four was an extreme case.

Unable to “metabolize” parts directly from any source of raw materials because

of the complete failure of its materials-procurement workforce, it relied

totally on its scavengers. Factory Thirty-two, on the other hand, could acquire

raw materials but couldn’t use them since it had been built without a processing

facility at all. Its robots delivered instead to Forty-seven, which happened to

produce parts for some of the scavengers being manufactured by Thirty-two, and

the two factory-robot organisms managed to coexist happily in their bizarre form

of symbiosis.

The piles of assorted junk, which shouldn’t have accumulated from the earlier

phases of the process but had, were eaten up; the machines that broke down were

eaten up; and the carcasses of defunct factories were eaten up. When those

sources of materials had been exhausted, some of the machines began to eat each

other.

The scavengers had been designed, as they had to be, to discriminate between

properly functioning machines and desirable products on the one hand and rejects

in need of recycling on the other. However, as with everything else in the

whole, messed-up project, this function worked well in some cases, not so well

in others, and often not at all. Some of the models turned out to be as likely

to attempt the dismantling of a live, walking-around Fred as of a dead,

flat-on-its-back one. Many of the victims were indifferent to this kind of

treatment and soon died out, but others succeeded in developing effective

fight-or-flee responses to preserve themselves, thus marking the beginnings of

specialized prey and predators in the form of “lithovores” and “artifactovores.”

This development was not always an advantage, especially when the loss of

discrimination was total. Factory Fifty was consumed by its own offspring, who

began dismantling it at its output end as soon as they came off the assembly

line, and then proceeded proudly to deliver the pieces back to its input end.

Its internal repair robots were unable to undo the undoings fast enough, and it

ground to a halt to become plunder for marauders from Thirty-six and

Fifty-three. The most successful factory-robot organisms protected themselves by

evolving aggressive armies of “antibody” defenders, which would recognize their

own factory and its “kind” and leave them alone, but attack and attempt to

destroy any “foreign” models that ventured too close. This gradually became the

dominant form of organism, usually associated with a distinct territory which

its members cooperated in protecting collectively.

By this time only a few holes in the ground remained at opposite ends of the

rocky shelf to mark where Factories One and Two had once stood. They had failed

to keep up with the times, and the area had become the domain of Factory

Sixty-five. The only trace left of the searcher spacecraft was a long, rounded

depression in the ice beach below, on the shore of the liquid methane sea.

The alien engineers had designed the system to enjoy full planetary

communications coverage by means of satellites and surface relays, but the idea

hadn’t worked too well since nothing had been put into orbit and surface relays

tended not to last very long. This enabled some of the organisms without strong

defenses to remain protected, for a while, from the more metal-hungry empires by

sheer distance. But, to allow for communications blackouts and interference, the

aliens had also provided a backup method of program and data exchange between

robots and factories, which took the form of direct, physical, electrical

interconnection. This was a much slower process than using radiolinks,

naturally, since it required that the robots travel physically to the factories

for reprograming and reporting, but in a self-sustaining operation far from home

the method was a lot better than nothing. And it kept the accountants happy by

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