When she finished reviewing her troops and returned to “write her letter home,” Sergeant Erikson told her the computers were down, even though she could see very clearly that they were up and running. He kept his hand near his side arm as he said it and she knew that this was the sergeant’s rather respectful way of telling her Ikky had made the corn suite off limits to her.
The androids, KEN model numbers 637-640, stood at docking bay 498 staring at the Condor. It did not compute.
“I have tried the proper codes,” said KEN637, “and the hatch will not open.”
“I have attempted a manual override of all known computer codes for opening hatches with the result that we now have access to every other ship, flitter, chopper, and pizza delivery fly-by on the planet, and still the hatch will not open,” said KEN638.
“I have tried hammering on the hull with all of my nonorganic attachments,” said KEN639, “and still the hatch will not open.”
“Perhaps a can opener would be of benefit,” suggested KEN640, the one with the wet and smoking shredded pant leg. Fortunately for the other KEN models, they did not have olfactory sensors as part of the standard equipment.
“What is a can opener?” asked KEN637.
“An antique device for accessing the hatch of food containers and opening them,” KEN640 said.
“Where may we obtain one?” asked KEN639.
KEN640 opened a panel in his forearm and his own array of nonorgamc tools swung into view: a hacksaw, chisel, fingernail file, scissors, screw driver, two different knife blades, and a rotary tool with several different burrs attached. And-a corkscrew. And finally, a flat piece of metal with a knobby bit and a cutout crescent shape. “Here!” KEN640 announced.
“Oh, is that what that is?” KEN637 said, opening his own arm. “I was wondering. I had noticed it in your assembly before and wondered what it was and why we earlier model numbers didn’t have one.”
“I believe I was designed as a special commission. My original employer had some rather old-fashioned tastes.”
KEN637 said, “Perhaps you should try it on the hatch then. From my observations, I would say that Jonas Becker, CEO of Becker Salvage and Recycling Enterprises, Limited, also has antiquated tastes.”
KEN640 obligingly mounted the movable scaffolding that the androids had brought from the central facility of the loading docks. Modern vessels all had a fairly standard hatch location but the older ones were often made by a variety of manufacturers with a variety of specifications.
KEN640 was still replacing his auxiliary components into his forearm while he mounted the scaffolding. Suddenly, his foot, which had developed a short and, consequently, and involuntary twitch from the attentions of RK, slipped off the top rung. He threw himself against the scaffolding to catch his fall and escape damage. The scaffolding banged hard against the hatch, which flew open, showering several tons of spare computer components, ancient nose cones, small flitters, and one long stretch of metal grating down onto the other KEN models, who had been standing directly beneath him, looking up to see what the ruckus was about.
KEN640 lost his grip and made one last leap to try to regain purchase on something to stop his fall-and found it. His fingers closed on the edge of the hatch. He tightened his grip and swung himself aloft and into the hatch. As he slid away from the opening, the hatch closed behind him. He banged on it. Nothing. He pushed with all his might. It remained sealed shut.
“Assistance!” He projected his vocalization so that it would carry to ‘the units below. “Assistance is required. My sensors do not detect any accessible openings into the ship from here, and no means to operate the opening to the outside. Please assist me at once.”
When time passed and he received no assistance, nor could further searches discover a mechanism to either allow him inside the ship or out of it entirely, he shut himself off to conserve power. Kisia Manjari did not appreciate it when her units wasted power.
Just before his visual sensors shut down, however, they replayed a fleeting image he’d seen-of the debris from the hatch superimposed on the prone forms of the other KEN units, who presented during this flash an uncharacteristically two-dimensional appearance, as if they were mere splashes of plastiskin, machined parts, and various lubricants smashed onto the pavement beneath rather than their usual selves.