Ultimate Nyssa Glass, H. Burke [cat reading book .TXT] 📗

right, then fourth from the bottom left.”

“Pi again, huh?” She chuckled.

“Stick with what works.”

She pressed the three leaves. The panel squeaked as it slid to one side.

“Needs to be oiled,” Hart said.

“I’ll get right on that.” Nyssa rolled her eyes.

A dark passage lay before her, the air cold and stagnant.

“We’ll need to be on the lookout for security systems,” Hart said. “The lab was the professor’s fortress. He kept all his private documents, his schematics, and of course the backups and controls for me. It’s the brain of the household, an extension of the professor himself. If we can reach the lab, we might be able to find a way to disable any active robotic systems. It won’t make it right, but it's the closest we can come to laying these souls to rest.”

Nyssa switched her goggles back to night-vision. An open-shelled, spiral staircase rose for about twenty feet before ending at a circular hatch with a handwheel. Dust coated every step.

She placed her feet on the first step. It creaked but held her weight. Gripping the rail with one hand and the RAM’s handle with the other, she ascended. The platform beneath the hatch was a slim half-circle of rusty metal. She had to stoop to avoid hitting her head on the wheel.

“So … what happens to you when I’m finished here? I get to hand over the files Rivera wants and find myself some place warm and sunny to start over, but you? What would be happily ever after for you?” Placing the RAM back in her belt, she put her shoulder against the wheel. It groaned but didn’t move. “Dang. I may have to oil it.”

“I don’t know. My purpose here was household maintenance, but my programming has endless applications. My hardware isn’t that bulky. If you can take me with you, I can easily download myself into another system. I don’t want to end up in sleep mode until my circuits deteriorate.”

Flakes of rust fell onto Nyssa’s arms and into her hair as the handwheel began to rotate, squeaking as it went. “I’m sure we can get you out of here. I know Mr. C would’ve loved to have you in his shop. He thought Dalhart’s original designs were near perfect. Always griped about the tinkering Rivera did with the line.” She paused to wipe her brow. “Mr. C would’ve liked you a lot.”

“Sound like a wise man. Who is he?” Hart asked.

Nyssa cleared her throat and gave the wheel another push. Something snapped, allowing it to spin freely. “He was my employer and my friend.”

“The one who … oh I’m sorry.”

The hatch moved upward, showering her with dust. Nyssa coughed. “Blast it.” She reached up and felt around. Her fingers found the bottom rung of a metal ladder. She gave it a yank, and it rolled down to the platform.

“Back when things were better, I used to play chess with Professor Dalhart,” Hart said as she climbed.

“You mentioned that.” The space was tight, more like a tube than a passageway.

“Yes, well, there was something he said once, about people. He said people were the greatest of treasures in the most fragile of boxes, meaning your bodies, I suppose.”

Another hatch waited at the top of the ladder. Bracing herself against the wall, Nyssa spun the handwheel then pushed it up. “Good thing it swings out instead of in. It’s tight in here … so you think that’s why he wanted to ‘convert’ all his servants? To improve upon their fragile boxes?”

“Maybe. My point wasn’t to justify his actions, but he was right about one thing: death can be sudden and cruel, and life is fleeting and precious.”

“Yeah, death’s rotten.” Nyssa hoisted herself into the next space, a small chamber with a handle-less wooden door on one wall. “I don’t think Professor Dalhart found a better alternative, though.” She dusted her hands on her leggings.

“No, he definitely did not,” Hart agreed. “I recognize this place. Is there a mirror behind us?”

Nyssa turned. A full length mirror with an elaborate switch-and-dial-covered frame hung from the wall. A white dust cloth obscured the majority of the glass.

“The door is electronically controlled. I can access it from that mirror, though. Maybe there will be some memory files too.”

Nyssa approached the mirror. She tugged off the dust cloth, which fluttered to the ground. Her own reflection gazed back, her hair disheveled and dirt smudged all over her face and neck. She shook her head. “If I get out of this, I’m giving cobwebs a wide berth and dusting three times a day.” She plugged the RAM into its port then arranged the dust cloth into a cushion to sit on.

The mirror lit up as the inner workings began to buzz.

“It’s odd, how so many of the mirrors are covered up.” The lights pulsed in time to Hart’s words. “The mirrors are my eyes. How am I supposed to do my job if they blind me?”

“Maybe the professor didn’t want you to see,” Nyssa whispered. “Maybe he was ashamed.”

Hart didn’t respond. A moment later, something across the room clicked.

“That didn’t open it, but something happened.” Nyssa crossed to the door. A panel had slid away, revealing a metal keypad and an engraved plaque. The keypad had the numbers zero through nine, the plaque a lengthy inscription.

“Number your days, each passing year,

But let the Father, Son, and Spirit

Multiply your blessings.

Forsake the seven sins,

But keep His commandments.”

“What nonsense are you spouting?” Hart asked.

“I’ll show you. Are you ready to disconnect?”

“Give me a moment.” The mirror hummed. “I want to backup my recent memory files. If I store them here, everything should upload to the main computer when we get the system back online. I’ve had enough memory gaps for a lifetime. From now on, I’m making backups of backups.”

Pacing back to him, she stroked the mirror’s frame. “Isn’t it odd? Having bits of your consciousness scattered throughout multiple computers? How do you know what is really you?”

“The majority of my core program is