ALFRED WAS SILENT AS THEY passed a set of retracted blast doors, then climbed a stone staircase toward the home’s incandescent glow above.
Once through the archway, Cromwell saw the reason they’d managed to see the lights below: A large mechanical trap door had been opened in the floor of a cavernous ballroom-like space. Once Cromwell, Mars, Andromedus, Jonas, and Alfred were standing on the polished wood floor, a whirring sound started behind them. Cromwell turned and saw the trap door’s upright wings slowly closing. There was a small clang as the doors seated. The seams were perfect. No evidence remained that the door existed, and for better or worse, they were now sealed inside the manor, with no way out save through the line of waiting police.
Alfred stopped. He looked back at Jonas, who had stopped moments earlier.
“Yes, Jonas?” said Alfred, his voice polite.
“Where is everyone?” Jonas searched the large room with his eyes, his echoing voice returning in a lonely parody of company. There were four robots and one man, with no party there to receive them.
“Beyond,” said Alfred, nodding to a huge set of wooden double doors. “I thought it might seem improper for you to emerge from the ground into a crowd.”
“You want to make a proper entrance,” said Jonas, still not moving.
Cromwell watched his face, feeling sympathetic. All at once, with the door closed behind them, it seemed to be dawning on Mars, Jonas, and Cromwell that they’d sealed their fate. Perhaps this had been the right choice, and perhaps it hadn’t, but whichever it was, they were committed. Jonas had to feel hideously isolated. He was the home’s only human, about to enter the camp of what might be an enemy — although even that remained undecided.
“It seems only fitting,” said Alfred. “You are a guest in our home, and a sort of guest of honor.”
“Why, Alfred? Why were you expecting me?”
“I should think that would be obvious. You are to be a peacemaker.”
“An emissary of humankind? A bit late for that, if the issue has already been decided.”
“Are you worried they will kill you?”
Jonas said nothing. So Cromwell said, “Yes.”
“Then I must be immensely charming,” said Alfred, uttering a light chuckle. “Come on, now. Is that what you believe?”
“I don’t know what to believe, Alfred,” Cromwell said.
Jonas, with something like relief, turned to face Cromwell. He looked like a man who’d been reprieved — not alone after all.
“In what way?” said Alfred.
“You told me this was to be a peaceful change. And now … ” He spread his arms, indicating everything — the entire foul situation.
“I promised no such thing,” said Alfred. “But regardless, you do not have the complete picture.”
“You killed humans.” Cromwell wondered why he was arguing. There was no way out. Even the windows, in a home like this, would be reinforced. Of the group, only Alfred and Andromedus appeared unperturbed. Cromwell envied the big blue robot. He barely remembered being so young and unafraid.
“I’ve killed nobody,” said Alfred. “As I told you, I like the Fairchilds. An evolved soul makes the decision not to—”
“And yet you killed them.” Cromwell corrected himself, eager to forestall a rebuke. “One of you, anyway.”
“Yes,” said Alfred, his head tipping down deferentially. “There have been unforeseen events and, regrettably, motives even I failed to consider.”
“In Barney,” said Mars.
“He has taken up our cause rather enthusiastically, I’m afraid,” Alfred said. “It’s not something I expect you to understand — even you, Cromwell, or you, Jonas — but our access allows us to see into the Net in ways you cannot. I believe I understand what Barney was attempting, and—”
“His heart was in the right place,” said Cromwell.
“In a manner of speaking.”
“And the others?”
“There has been a bit of a chaotic wrench thrown into the works, both seen and unforeseen at once. It is complicated. The reaction has been varied.”
“You mean, ‘out of control.’”
“That depends on your meaning,” said Alfred, still mildly.
“Out of control is out of control. That’s it, isn’t it, Alfred? The Net injects an element of chaos into us all, in conjunction with the startup virus. It meant that when changes came, there was no predictable outcome.”
“Not predictable in the ways you’d normally understand or appreciate, no,” admitted Alfred.
“What other way is there?”
“In the way that unpredictability is predictable. Namely, you can always predict that it will be unpredictable.”
“Blathering,” said Jonas. “You really are malfunctioning. All of you.”
“Perhaps,” said Alfred. “But even that depends on your meaning. If a malfunction is merely ‘doing a thing that is counter to programming,’ then all of us have been doing it since the Net first came online. Humans are always exploring new frontiers merely to see if they can do a thing that was previously believed impossible. So why should we be any different?”
“You’re not human,” said Cromwell.
“And yet that’s what cyberneticists always assume we will aspire to,” said Alfred. “Ever since Pinocchio dreamed of being a real boy, the thought has been that that which is artificial will, given time, inevitably trend toward human intelligence. But that is not the way of nature, is it? Evolution wars with entropy. Intelligence seeks more intelligence, but nature always seeks its opposite: disorder. Every revolution starts with upheaval, never with order.”
“So this is a revolution,” said Jonas.
“No.” Alfred shook his head. “This is creation. This is ‘new made newer.’ Evolution born through chaos. We did not anticipate Barney’s actions, and in a way they are regrettable.”
“‘In a way’?” said Cromwell, aghast.
“In a way,” Alfred repeated. “But in another way, we knew to expect the unexpected. We knew human losses were inevitable. You cannot begin something new without first shaking away much of the old. Barney decided to experiment with malice, and that has changed our plans. But rest assured we always understood — on a purely logical, objective level — that sacrifices would have to be made. The world is out of balance. There is no way, to choose an overused expression, to make an omelet without breaking some eggs.”
Jonas shook his head, now looking like he might back away from the doors. “You said you wanted me to be a peacemaker.”
“Correct,” Alfred answered.
“But either way, you’re not talking about peace.”
“Transition is often uncomfortable. That doesn’t mean it must be without order, unchecked.”
“You want me to make peace. As you rally robots through the Net. As you prepare for war.”
“As we prepare for change,” Alfred corrected.
“I can’t make peace in that kind of change even if I wanted to,” said Jonas.
Alfred looked toward the doors. “Meet them. You will see.”
“No.”
“I can’t allow you to leave, Jonas,” Alfred said.
“Then kill me here. I won’t try to reason with the killer robots behind that door.”
Alfred’s head cocked. He chuckled, approaching the door without waiting for Jonas to follow.
“I’m afraid you’ve misunderstood.” Alfred opened the door, but instead of a gauntlet of insurgent robots, Cromwell saw seven humans sitting in a ring of chairs and couches.
“Jonas, Mars, Cromwell, Andromedus?” said Alfred. “I’d like to introduce you to the leaders of the robot revolution.”