Mr. Gordons was thinking.
While many could debate the ability of a machine to have independent thought, Mr. Gordons was nonetheless reviewing and resorting recorded memory bits in new ways. He did this not in any way to reminisce or philosophize, but because each new permutation brought with it a new mathematical calculation which served his primary purpose—the calculation of his odds of survival, which he had attempted to keep as close to one hundred percent as possible.
Those odds had rested comfortably above the ninety-ninth percentile for several months—the longest the android had ever been able to keep them at that level—while he lived as Stewart McQueen. But as soon as Mr. Gordons had used up all the manuscripts on McQueen’s computer, he had seen those odds slip a few percentage points. When he had the opportunity to repeat the ploy with a new author’s life, those recalculated odds had gone up again, although not as high as they were when he was being McQueen. With each subsequent shift of identity, the odds showed a steady decline.
The odds had plummeted when the android was visited by the man with the hook for a hand, and Mr. Gordons realized he had established a detectable and predictable pattern. This was undoubtedly, the android computed, because he lacked creativity. A creative entity would have known how to have altered the pattern and make it less discernible. But Mr. Gordons had not been programmed for creativity, and the brief period when it had been incorporated into his programming had nearly led to his demise.
Mr. Gordons thought on this, and other things, as he went about his current task with mechanical precision.
He thought about the man with the hook for a hand, whom he had designated as Low Probability: Khan. Low Probability: Khan had given Mr. Gordons technology and ideas that had caused a welcome climb in the ongoing internal graph that mapped the android’s survival chances. The first gift had been something from the transportation industry, referred to commonly as ‘transparent truck technology.’ In analysis, it was a very simple idea to absorb and adapt into his physical structure. The paradigm involved misdirecting attention by means of rear-mounted cameras that projected what was behind the android to a collection of front-mounted monitors, rendering him with a kind of invisibility when viewed straight on.
The other technology offered by Low Probability: Khan troubled Mr. Gordons. It had been developed by scientists at a Japanese engineering firm, and the android’s benefactor declined to comment as to how he had been able to acquire it. The device, known as a Krahseevah, utilized harmonic vibrations to render its bearer intangible—not only invisible, but also ostensibly without mass. Using the device, Mr. Gordons would be able to pass through solid objects as if he were made of air. On the minus side, the same device could cause a massive explosion if it suffered a power failure while the intangible wearer was passing through a solid object. Mr. Gordons calculated his odds of surviving such an event at less than one-thousandth of one percent unless special precautions were taken.
Mr. Gordons re-sorted these memories in a process a biological human might refer to as pondering, as he stood with his hand against the steel support beam. The android was already feeling the length of the span, the weight of the cars traveling across it in both directions. He insinuated himself into the entirety of the structure until he was one with every beam, bolt, nut and rivet.
Mr. Gordons did not expect Low Probability: Khan’s gifts to come without a price, of course. While Khan had offered reassurances that High Probability: Remo and Chiun were expected, in exchange for the android’s services, he promised to elevate the android’s survival chances to one hundred percent.
Khan did not present a medium-or-higher threat assessment to Mr. Gordons’ survival, and his breathing and heart rate did not give the indications of telling a lie. The android’s first task had been to prove Khan’s idea was feasible by dismantling a bridge in Helena, Arkansas. Shortly after, he was asked to implement the technologies he had been given to abduct Professor Sweet from his bedroom, and carry the terrified man through his bedroom wall to the awaiting black VTOL aircraft, which would then convey them to the Black Hawk Bridge, which the android would then disassemble.
The bridge where Mr. Gordons currently stood was completely a part of the android now, and he began to exert influence over its components. Bolts creaked as they started to turn, hex nuts letting go of flakes of rust as they loosened.
While the android had access to Stewart McQueen’s writings, he learned that including song lyrics in a conversation seemed to be a creative manner of speaking. Mr. Gordons began to rank song lyric snippets, using a predictive algorithm to determine which ones might be the most useful. He did this while absently exerting more influence over the bridge, his palm submerged a half-inch into the steel support beam as steel bolts began slowly turning.
Khan’s idea was antithetical to Mr. Gordons’ basic programming: Could Mr. Gordons assume the form of something, and then dismantle that something into its component parts? Certainly he had experience reshaping items he had absorbed into himself. Once he had taken over a Soviet space shuttle, and reshaped it into a car wash. But that had remained an intact object throughout.
However, when taken under full consideration, it was really nothing more than a new way to slough off an old form. It might, Mr. Gordons posited, even be considered creative.
The android had decided right then that it was creative.
He reaffirmed that decision again, even now, as thousands of bolts, nuts and rivets suddenly splashed down into the river in a hail of iron and steel. These splashes were followed immediately by the creaking and clanging of the hundreds of beams that formed the trusses of the Memphis-Arkansas Bridge.
Bereft of any connective means, they answered the call of gravity, bringing with them dozens of cars and their passengers into the Mississippi.
The cacophony of industrial destruction and human agony did not penetrate the mechanical thoughts of Mr. Gordons, who casually walked away from the carnage.