Bad Program

1 - Trapped

"How long before that thing gets in... g-gets in?" Steven Benton asked.

The Shepherd called Joshua watched as the well-dressed albeit sweaty executive adjusted his tie and cuff links for perhaps the hundredth time. His shiny, cultured attire was a sharp contrast to the Shepherd's simple clothes. His standard-issue duster was the most expensive thing he owned. Joshua could understand his nervous affection. The steady pounding on the door laid their nerves raw. It was relentless, patient... inevitable.

Brock snorted, grinning in a humorless sort of way. "How should I know? You want me to ask it?"

Steven glared at him with unveiled hatred. "Remem-member who you work for."

Brock returned his gaze steadily, wiping the blood off his gun with a rag. "What are you gonna do? Fire me? Give me a bad review? Reprimand me?"

Steven didn't answer.

Joshua's eyes narrowed. Steven was sweating profusely. Joshua thought the executive simply wasn't handling the pressure well until the shaking and stuttering echolalia began. The preacher knew the symptoms well from his work in the missions. Steven was coming down off his neuros. All too soon, the junkie started crashing. Joshua stepped in to diffuse the situation.

"It won't be long now," he said. He remembered his Shepherd's training, keeping his voice calm. Accepting the problem was the first step to solving it.

"It can't get in, can it?" Grace asked.

Joshua could hear the terror in her voice. She was a beautiful young woman, which was likely one of the major reasons Steven had hired her to be his assistant. Until today, she had her whole life ahead of her. He instinctively wanted to protect her, but now was not the time to shelter the innocent. "It can. It will. And when it does," he said, nodding toward the bloodied bundle in the corner, "it is very likely that we're all going to end up like Martin here." They'd wrapped Martin's body in a blanket to spare everyone the sight of his decapitated corpse. It was a shame. It all happened so fast.

"You don't know that," Steven said.

"Our guns will not stop it," Joshua said.

Brock shook his head at the Shepherd. "I thought you preachers were supposed to give us comfort."

"A Shepherd speaks the truth," Joshua said. "I do not speak peace and safety where there is none."

"What about hope? You still speak hope, don't you?" Brock said, waving his gun around to punctuate his sentences. "Because I have no intention of dying in here."

"That's enough," Carl Flowers said quietly. The lab-coated scientist was the only one besides Joshua who didn't seem to be bothered by their predicament. "You're going to shoot someone."

Brock stared at the old man hard, then finally shrugged. "Suit yourself, doc."

"Why is it after us?" Grace asked. "I thought these things were supposed to be safe."

"They are safe," Flowers said. "Three Laws safe."

"Martin and I both find that very reassuring, doc," Brock said.

A flicker of anger marred the scientist's face for a moment. It was gone in an instant. Brock grinned to let the good doctor know he'd witnessed it. Flowers didn't take the bait. Instead, he turned to Grace and asked, "Young lady, are you familiar with Asimov's Three Robotic Laws."

She shook her head. "No. I mean, I do. I've heard them. Everyone has, but -" She shuddered, glancing at Martin.

"I understand, dear," Flowers said. "It's all a bit much. No matter what you've seen tonight, no matter what else has happened, I assure you that the machine at the door is not trying to kill us. The Three Laws are absolute."

Brock snorted. "The Three Laws are a fiction."

"I design robots, sir, and I assure you that they are very real."

"Really? Well, if memory serves me the First Law states that a robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm, right?" Brock asked. "So why did it take Martin's head off?"

"I don't know," the roboticist admitted. "All I can tell you is that it wasn't trying to murder him, any more than it's trying to kill us."

The steady pounding on the plasteel doors made Flowers' reassurances ring hollow.

"So what would you call it then? It jumped him out of nowhere. It was dragging him off to do heaven knows what with him."

"Not possible," Flowers said, shaking his head. "I deal with those units every day. It's a civilian robot and all civilian robots are programmed with the Three Laws."

Steven scoffed, adjusting his tie. "You're so-so sure? Maybe someone tampered with its programming. Maybe someone ordered it to kill him - kill him. You ever think of that? The Second Law states that - that a robot has to obey any order a human gives it."

The Shepherd frowned. Steven was getting worse. If they didn't get out of here soon, they'd have more to worry about than a rogue robot.

Flowers sighed. "Except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. Like it or not, Martin is dead because of bad luck, plain and simple. Call it an industrial accident. Whatever happened to Martin, it was tragically unavoidable."

"Yeah, well, I get file after file each and every day reporting these kinds of industrial accidents," Steven said. "And there have been a whole lot more ever since that last upgrade."

Flowers shook his head, offering the executive a look one would normally reserve for correcting a naughty, but beloved child. "You don't know what you're talking about. I designed that last upgrade myself. It was a simple protocol program, something to make them act more human, but I assure you the Three Laws were left very much intact."

"Are you listening to yourself? Better yet, are you listening to that?" Brock asked, indicating the steady pounding on the door. The plasteel doors were buckling from the robot's handiwork. "It's coming for us, doc, and your Three Laws won't make a hill of beans when it does."

Flowers opened his mouth to protest, but then clamped it shut. They waited in silence, listening to the sound of the robot's pounding.

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