He turned the head over in his hands again and again. As he did so, fluids of varying textures pored from where the head was brutally torn from the body. He palmed the head in one hand while wiping his other hand against his blue pristine uniform. He turned the severed head upside down, trying to keep the sticky fluid from running onto the floor.

Kyrt looked down. There, crumpled in a heap, laid the headless body. More fluids of different colors formed a puddle from where the head used to be. By the placement of the body, the blow must have been quite sudden and unexpected.

Kyrt twisted his expression. "I wish I could figure out what happened," he mumbled to himself. Then a simple idea came to him. Maybe there was a way. After all, what harm was there in trying?

Kyrt set down the severed head and walked over to where the fallen body lay. With only a small amount of difficulty he lifted the torso and leaned it against the nearby wall. He then picked up the oozing severed head. After studying the circuitry in the neck, Kyrt found the relevant power connections. Being careful not to touch the main leads with his bare hands, he carefully connected the head back onto the torso. The head, now safely attached to his neck, slumped lazily forward.

Kyrt expected something to happen. Once whole again, he hoped it would self activate within a few minutes. However, the longer he waited the less likely it seemed. Kyrt knelt down beside the broken droid, studying the robot for the first time as a whole.

The robot's body type was unmistakably female. That is, the designers intended to give the impression of a female form. It, or rather, she was sleek looking, with smooth curves and rounded edges making up her body. The rigid outer body was tinged a cool blue hue. Her legs and arms, also colored blue, were of average human length. The arms were thin and molded to give only a subjective impression of human arms. The legs were the same, thicker and curved at the thigh, growing narrower at the feet.

The robot had a rounded upper chest with a triangular grove in the middle, supposedly to give the impression of a bust, thus adding to the female appearance. The sides of his body synched inward toward the waist, giving the body an hourglass shape. The head was plain, smooth, and oval shaped. Her face wore a blank, frozen expression, but the choice of expression was not her own. Her face was molded that way.

Through sharp eyes, Kyrt studied the calm azure face with great care. A softly rounded brow sheltered deep set spherical eyes, which nested above high round cheeks. Reaching down from her brow, a modest, simple nose occupied the middle of her oval face. Below, a pair of softly sculpted lips rested slightly over a small rounded chin. The expression she was given appeared blank and without emotion, making her appear completely relaxed. Although Kyrt knew the truth, draped in the shadows of the cold dark room, the mechanical woman's face looked almost human.

Kyrt rubbed his chin and contemplated his silent friend. The thought of activating her consumed him. On human-form robots, the power switch was usually small and well hidden. The designers didn't see the need to make the switch too accessible. Repeatedly restarting a highly advanced machine such as this was usually unnecessary and not recommended. It could result in damage to the electronic circuits, resulting in damage to short-term memory. For that reason the switch was always cleverly hidden. Still, the button was necessary in the case of a shut-down do to catastrophic damage. There had to be some way to wake her.

To Kyrt, she looked to be an Y-2000. Model Y's were not seen very much anymore. They went out of fashion decades ago. Kyrt recalled that Y-2K's had a power switch somewhere at the back of the neck. Using both hands, Kyrt gripped the right arm of the dead machine and pushed. The muscles in his wide chest forced out the last bit of air in his lungs as he strained to roll the one ton machine. On the last push, Kyrt rolled the body over.

The button was there, that is, what was left of it. It was just below the neck, very close to where her head and body were previously separated. The button was bent inward and cracked. Keeping his fingers crossed, Kyrt pressed it.

At first, nothing happened. Then Kyrt heard a whirring from deep inside the robot's tapered torso. The whirring quickly changed into a cool hum. From Kyrt's perspective, that was all. However, a lot more was going on inside.

First, the internal power system relays flashed to life. Soon after, a minor sub-processor pushed a new instruction into the log buffer. A separate processor read the buffer and called on a logic subroutine to determine the proper course of action. The subroutine fed the processor the instruction to call the main boot system. The main boot system, rarely called more than once in a robot's life, performed it's only function - awaken the synthetic brain.

The sweet nectar of energy washed over the internal neural network, summoning the sleeping brain to life. Inside the brain, tiny flashes of light danced over the synthetic brain cells. Along with the gush of power, a trillion instructions sank into the brain, feeding it with an abundance of information.

Once the first internal self-diagnostic was complete, the optical sensors flickered on. The eyes of the robot burned with a deep red glow. The robot was now active. The whole start-up process was complete in just under eight seconds.

Kyrt, oblivious to the intricate internal events taking place, watched as the twisted figure began to awake. The mechanized construct took note of its lop sided world, and quickly began the process of righting itself. With stiff, creaking joints, the clockwork rendering of a human struggled to upright itself.

"Hello there, old thing," said a smiling Kyrt, pleased with his own handiwork.

Detecting Kyrt's greeting, the robot's head pivoted toward his, pinning Kyrt under two glowing red eyes. The robot's speaker cracked to life and out came a melodious voice, friendly, yet hollow and unmistakably artificial. "Hello," she said. After a long pause, the machine asked, "Where am I?"

Kyrt's broad smile sagged. "You don't know? I guess you must have sustained some memory loss." Kyrt had to be careful with his mechanical friend. She certainly had suffered some sort of traumatic event. Recalling it too suddenly could send the robot into shock. For that reason, he decided to skirt the issue as much as possible. His robotic psychology training was minimal. He hoped he could remember how it was supposed to be done.

Kyrt scratched his head. "Let's see," he started, tentatively, "Maybe I can jog your memory a little. What's the last thing you remember? Can you tell me that?"

The robot quietly stared at Kyrt, saying nothing.

"Okay, how about this: what's your name? Do you know?"

The answer shot from the robot's small speaker as if from a cannon. "My name is Rogna. I am an Y-2000 series artificial life form. My serial number is R2909PW144…"

Kyrt waved a dismissing hand. "That's fine. That's fine - enough with the factory information. Now Rogna, let's try something else. Where are you? Think hard now."

Rogna looked around the cold dim room, then back to his inquisitor. "Perhaps you can give me a hint?"

Kyrt laughed. "Sure! Sure I can. Uh, let's see. We are on an orbital platform, orbiting high above the planet Astria. The platform's prim…"

Like some oral relay participant, Rogna grabbed the verbal baton and finished Kyrt's dialog. "The platform's primary purpose is to relay communication signals from the frontier words down to the planet below. Its main power source is derived from the nearby star around which Astria orbits. The platform was built in 2201 and activated in 2202."

"And you have been here since that time?"

Rogna tilted her head to one side, in a synthetically sympathetic fashion. "I have?"

Kyrt sighed. "I would think so. You’re an Y-2000 series. You, or should I say, your model went out of production some time ago, around the same time this place went on-line. That was about twenty-six years ago."

Eyeing Rogna, and contemplating the span of time, Kyrt couldn't help but laugh. "You know, you're quite an old maid, aren't you?" His poor attempt at wit went unappreciated. The old maid he spoke of did not reply. She simply continued to stare at Kyrt with deep crimson eyes that seemed to convey more of a chill than a sense of warmth. As the awkward moment drew on, Kyrt could almost feel herself being drawn into those glowing spheres. For an instant, it seemed as if nothing else existed in the universe except those icy burning eyes.

Kyrt shook his head and blinked a bit, trying to clear the creepy cobwebs from his cranium. He turned his head away from his plastic pal to observe his surroundings. The room was dark. Only a small amount of filtered starlight permeated the glass dome high above his head. He sniffed the air and took note of its dry mustiness. The tale of Rogna's decapitation would have to wait, lamented Kyrt. Getting the life support system up and running seemed slightly more important for the moment.

Kyrt stood up straight and took a long deep breath. The air that passed though his lungs was stale and cold. It tasted flat and dry on his tongue. With each subsequent breath, Kyrt felt his chest tighten, as if steel bands were wrapping themselves around him. The remaining breathable air in the room was spreading itself thin. Kyrt wondered why the environmental systems hadn't activated. The sensors should have detected his life readings and started the minute he set foot on the station.

Wiping a small amount of nervous perspiration from his upper lip, Kyrt surveyed the darkened room again. As he did so, Rogna pulled her broken body up from the floor and stood quietly behind Kyrt. She did not bother to follow Kyrt's probing gaze. She trained her narrow view on Kyrt himself.

Kyrt, feeling Rogna's stare pressing against him, said, "I don't suppose you know where the environmental controls are?" With an unmistakably mechanical hum, Rogna slowly pivoted her head, surveying the room.

"C'mon, Rogna," said Kyrt, a bit annoyed. "You should know where it is. You should know where everything is. You've been up here long enough."

Rogna was about to raise her arm toward a particular direction of the room when Kyrt spotted it himself. "Oh, there it is."

He tracked his way passed a maze of dead consoles until he reached a small control panel beside the main airlock. It, like the others, was dark. Kyrt took another deep breath, forcing more stale air into his lungs. Strangely enough, Kyrt felt no pain this time; no ever tightening bands squeezing him. He expected the uncomfortable feeling to increase with each breath of old air. It didn't. Kyrt wondered if he was suffering from some sort of odd effect of oxygen depravation. He decided not to concern himself and focus on his immediate goal. Once he activated the terminal, fresh air would soon fill the room.

His nimble fingers danced across the console, knowing their way better than Kyrt expected. After a few short taps, a histogram displaying the current environmental conditions appeared on the flat display. As Kyrt expected, quantities of breathable air in the control room were very low -- nearly zero. A few more taps offered a three dimensional graphic of the air generators. The words "Off Line" flashed in big red letters over the image. Below it was the prompt, "Activate now?"

"Oh yes, please," laughed Kyrt, tapping the appropriate affirmative selection. Seconds later, the bold red lettering disappeared and the three dimensional graphic began to change. Lights began to flash and pistons began to pump, bringing the graphic to life. Kyrt watched with appreciation as the gauge beside the graphic slowly reached one hundred percent capacity.

A flashing message at the bottom of the screen caught Kyrt's eye. It read, "Auxiliary battery power. Only approximate twelve hour life span available."

"Only twelve hours of air, huh?" said Kyrt to himself. "I guess it will have to do."

Seconds later, a low hum pervaded the room. It was the air generators doing their job. Though hidden vents, cold crisp clean air gushed fourth, slowly filling the room. Feeling satisfied, Kyrt dropped himself into a small nearby metal chair and sighed. He reached up to wipe the hair clinging to his damp forehead away from his eyes. With his vision clear, Kyrt glanced up. To his great surprise, he found the sleek blue Rogna standing directly in front of him. Her glowing eyes were drilling him once again.

Slumping farther down in his chair, Kyrt folded his arms in front and stared back at Rogna. Once again he found himself getting lost in those deep hypnotic eyes of hers. They seemed to be calling him, drawing him in. If he let himself go, he felt she might take his mind - swallow his consciousness. He relaxed a little, and felt his mind slowly begin to slip away.

Quickly, Kyrt looked away, rubbing his eyes with both hands. His mind was swimming. He couldn’t understand what was wrong with him. "It's just a damn robot, for heaven's sake," he mumbled to himself. "Get a hold on yourself."

"Are you all right, sir?" asked Rogna.

Kyrt looked up at Rogna. The lighting system in the control room was beginning to power up. In the dull illumination of the small control room, he could see fluids still leaking from Rogna's head and neck. It oozed down from her neck and coated her chest, giving her upper torso an eerie yellow gleam.

As he stared at the damaged automaton, cold aggravation crept inside Kyrt. Rogna was badly damaged. The mere fact that she refused to face it made her mental defects even more obvious. He didn't want to press her on the details of her near destruction. It could cause cybernetic shock, completely fusing her neural network. Kyrt couldn't let that happen. He needed her. If he was to successfully complete his mission, needed her.

Nevertheless, Kyrt was getting tired of playing games. How long could he work with Rogna without acknowledging her dilapidated appearance or understanding how she wound up torn apart to begin with? He made up his mind. He would question her more directly.

"Rogna," he began, "you appear damaged."

Rogna did not move. She did not attempt a quick physical inspection. She gave no outward signs of being shocked or surprised. She merely stood there. After a few uneasy moments passed, Rogna said, "Yes, I am. My head was previously severed from my body. Deactivating me."

"And I repaired you," Kyrt quickly added.

"Thank you," she replied.

"Rogna, let me get to the point. What happened?"

The mechanical woman again tilted her head to one side. "Can you please be more specific?"

Kyrt's face reddened with frustration. In a clearly exasperated, but controlled manner, he asked, "Rogna, how did you lose your head?"

For several seconds, Rogna showed no signs of life. She stood there, motionless. Kyrt feared the worst - complete mental lock. But that was not the case. Rogna returned her head back to its upright position, then answered. "I can not say."

Kyrt forced out a laugh. "You can't? I would think it would be an important fact to hold onto. Don't you?"

Rogna must have assumed Kyrt's last question to be rhetorical. She did not answer. She stood there, still and silent, like some steel timber rooted to the floor.

"Well, it doesn't matter, I guess," said Kyrt. "I've got a lot of work ahead of me and only twelve or so hours to do it in."

A spark of life returned to Rogna. "If I may ask, sir. Why are you here?" she queried in a delicately probing manner.

Kyrt flung an index finger at the bright orb poring light down through the glass dome above. "See that star right there? Three days ago, it produced a massive solar flare. It struck the platform, causing heavy damage to the communication circuits. As you said yourself, Astria needs this platform in order to stay in contact with the frontier worlds. Therefore, repairs are necessary. That's where I come in."

"You know," continued Kyrt, "twelve hours is not a very long time. I could use your help. How 'bout it, my metal headed girl? Want to give me a hand?"

After a long pause, Rogna nodded stiffly.

The seated man took a deep breath of freshly manufactured air and smiled. The lumbering machine was an anomaly to Kyrt, to be sure. Her apparent schizoid mental state was his main concern. Severe mental deterioration could make her actions highly unpredictable - even dangerous. Kyrt considered deactivating her, but knew he couldn't predict how she would react if he made the attempt. By reactivating her, Kyrt let the genie out of the bottle. She was on for good now.

At least she would serve some purpose by helping him to complete his task. Kyrt found some comfort in that. He'd also feel safer having her close by, where he could keep an eye on her.

***

With the control room now bathed in white light from cool florescent lights circling the room, Kyrt could get a better look at his surroundings.

The room did not exactly fill his heart with delight. It was ordinary, at best; round with a gleaming white floor and stark black control stations jutting out at odd angles from the winding wall. It wasn't the antiseptic appearance of the room that quashed his spirits. The extensive damage to the room did that.

Kyrt watched as some instrument panels began to awaken from their cold, quiet slumber. Some were still asleep, waiting to be manually activated. Still others would never waken do to severe damaged. Glass and plastic littered the floor with smashed display screens and shattered controls.

As he looked around, Kyrt immediately began prioritizing; what to fix first and what would have to wait. He did not dwell on the sheer magnitude of damage caused by the flare. The devastation did not impact him emotionally, not yet at least. Kyrt tried to keep himself detached emotionally from the scene. In this way, he could make logical decisions on what had to be done.

There was one instrumentation panel in particular that Kyrt purposefully avoided inspecting. It was most vital piece of equipment present. It maintained the complex chatter between worlds, directing millions of terabytes of data to freely pass from planet to planet without a single bit getting lost. This system, named the Main Data Bus was extremely complex, to say the least.

He swallowed hard and gathered the courage to turn his eyes to the enormous data bus. It was a massive computer structure, occupying a large part of the center of the room. Kyrt backed up a bit and looked at it, scanning it up and down. With eyes wide, Kyrt's gawked with amazement. To his surprise, the Main Data Bus, the most vital piece of equipment on the platform, was nearly completely demolished.

With legs of rubber, he walked over to it to take a closer look. Like many of the other instruments, whole panels were charred and cracked. A whole bank of monitors was completely blown out. Great bundles of optic cable were ripped and thrown around the floor.

Kyrt buckled under the strain of emotions. He was angry at the universe for burdening him with such devastation. He was afraid, if he couldn't fix things, the Orbital Platform Guild would take away his license. But mostly, he was panic stricken. If this complex could not be repaired, the entire planet would be out of communication with the rest of the frontier, in effect marooning Astria to its lonely corner of the universe.

Seemingly sensing Kyrt's emotional conundrum, Rogna clanked over to his side. "Sir?" she asked.

"What?" responded Kyrt in a dry mumble, barely audible at all.

"Maybe we should repair the ground-to-orbit communications array first. Let those on the planet know how bad things are. Maybe they'll send more help."

"Send more help?" echoed Kyrt. He thought about that for a moment. He wondered how that would sound. He could call down and ask for support. In three hours, they could have a whole crew up here. By that time, the platform would be down to less than nine hours of air left. More people would mean more air use - which would mean that the air supply would run out even faster. No, more support wouldn't help him. "No, that won't do, Rogna."

"They could send more units like me, sir. I don't require air to function."

"More units like you?" Kyrt repeated. That might work. It would take about three type 2K robots four hours to be programmed to repair this equipment. The trip would take about three hours for them to get to the platform. That would leave him four hours of air before he would have to leave. That could work, thought Kyrt.

But what would the OPG say? Would they agree with his assessment? More to the point, could they appropriate the funds necessary to program and send up the robots? Kyrt was sure of the answer. They would probably fire him for even making the suggestion. "NO!" barked Kyrt. "It's up to us, Rogna."

Then, Kyrt had an idea. A spark of cheer flared inside him. All this time, he had been focusing on only one side of the MDB system. "Maybe the other side isn't as bad off," he remarked.

As he made his way to the other side, Rogna called out to him. "No, sir! Stop!"

Kyrt ignored her. He kept on his way. He leaned on the large panel and looked around the other side. There, to his horror, was a body wedged up against the wall. It was a human body, this time - flesh and bone.

It was a man. His age was indiscernible. The body was too badly abused to make a proper judgement. The entire right side of his head was smashed in. A mash of white bone and bright red blood oozed from his broken skull. His right arm was broken in three places and bent over his head. His left leg was also broken and twisted in such a way as to have it rest behind his back.

Kyrt shot a worried look at Rogna, then turned a quaking brow back to the crumpled figure at his feet. He wanted to shift his gaze away from the gruesome sight before him. He wanted to confront Rogna, but he couldn't. For the first time, he was afraid of her.

Kyrt's head was swimming. Was Rogna to blame for this, he asked himself. Was she capable of killing? A homicidal robot wasn't new, but it was rare to say the least. To Kyrt's recollection there were only two known accounts in history. In both cases, the robots exhibited a schizophrenic state, making them seem normal at times and dangerous at other times. Direct radiation exposure was the cause, severely damaging the robots' artificial brain, fracturing their personality.

Then Kyrt had a thought. "The solar flare!" His mind hummed with logical contemplation. If the solar flare was powerful enough to blow out whole instrumentation panels, what kind of damage could it have on the delicate engineering of a robot brain?

If Rogna had turned homicidal, completely overriding her Robotic Commandments, then she would be extremely dangerous. She would do whatever necessary to hide her acts of bloodshed. If her new murderous tendencies were discovered, others would come to arrest her and then promptly dismantle her. Rogna would not want to be destroyed. Therefore, self-preservation would become her new motivation in life. Murdering just to cover up another murder would make perfect sense to her. Kyrt was coldly aware of all this. He discovered the dead body, therefore, he would be her next victim. Kyrt stood there, as still as stone, waiting for her to attack.

But, to Kyrt's amazement, the attack did not come. With a tremble in his chin, Kyrt slowly turned his attention to Rogna. She was there, uncomfortably close, drilling him with her eyes.

In the shortness of one breath, Kyrt considered attacking her before she could attack. A quick lunge, surprising her, knocking her over, then reaching for the power switch in the back of her neck. As tempting as it seemed, Kyrt quickly dismissed the idea. She would toss him away like an old rag before he even laid a hand on her. A change of tactics was in order.

Kyrt took a deep breath to calm himself. He decided to play dumb. It might be his only way of surviving. He turned to Rogna once again and said, "What do you think happened to him, Rogna?"

Rogna slowly pivoted her head to the dead human lying on the ground. She stared at it for a full ten seconds, and then turned back to Kyrt. From the speaker hidden inside her chin, she pronounced, "What do you think happened, sir?"

A lump grew in Kyrt's throat. She was smarter than he thought. Kyrt rubbed his chin, hoping Rogna didn't notice how his hand trembled. He decided to stay with his original plan and feign ignorance. After an uncomfortably long pause, he said dryly, "It, uh, looks like an accident to me. He's probably been here for a very long time. The lack of air in the room would account for the lack of decomposition." To his surprise, the lie he concocted actually sounded believable. He felt he could continue spinning his tale, but decided to end it there. After clearing his throat of muck, he turned to Rogna. "What do you think, Rogna?"

Kyrt stared at Rogna's frozen expression in the mixture of light and shadow as she turned to study the fallen body once more. She scanned the body twice, then turned back to Kyrt. She looked at Kyrt, tilting her head to one side before answering. "I agree, sir."

Kyrt felt the cool chill of relief wash over him. His heart began to slow its pace. His moist palms begin to dry. The bluff worked. He had fooled her, for the moment. A nervous smile creased Kyrt's face.

Rogna looked down at the twisted figure. "We should place the body in the airlock. We can then remove the air to prevent further decomposition. Then, when we are finished the work, we will return with him to Astria."

Kyrt's eye sparked, accompanying his broad smile. "An excellent idea, old girl. Only, could you take care of it yourself?" He motioned toward the body with his eyes. "I don't think my stomach can handle it."

"I understand, sir."

Kyrt backed away as Rogna moved in for the body. He grimaced at the sight of the horrid figure draped in Rogna's steely arms. Caring the body as easily as another would carry a feather, she made her way to the airlock chamber across the room. She raised her hand and pressed the switch that activated the door, allowing it to slide open. Just before stepping into the small chamber, Rogna looked back at Kyrt for a moment, then continued inside the empty cubicle.

Then a wry thought formed in Kyrt's head. If he hurried, he could close the door while Rogna was inside, locking her in the airlock. Then he could open the outer door, sending the homicidal cyborg floating into space. Kyrt grinned as he imagined Rogna drifting in space, helplessly flailing and twisting and spinning amid the blackness. She'd float until Astria's thick gravity caught her and sucked her down into the atmosphere where she'd quickly incinerate. Kyrt rejoiced within himself. His troubles would be over.

But could he do it? Could he close the door before she got back inside? Kyrt decided to try. He took a few nervous steps toward the airlock door. With a quake in his hand, he slowly reached for the large bright button. He laid his trembling hand on the switch and pressed.

Without hesitation, the metal door began to slide closed. Kyrt watched with glee as it slid ever closer to the latch. As it moved, Kyrt nearly leapt with joy. The door was nearly closed now. His worries would soon be over.

But, before the door could reach the end of its journey, it stopped. Its path was interrupted. Rogna stood in its way, obstructing it. She stood in front of him. Her red glowing eyes trained keenly on him

A blazing streak of fear sliced down Kyrt's back. His terrified mind imagined traces of anger in her finely sculpted face. Drops of cold sweat ran down Kyrt's forehead. She knew what he was planning. He took a few stumbled steps backward, trying to avoid the eventual deathblow that would soon come.

With deliberate strides, Rogna moved out of the doorway, toward the terrified Kyrt. With panic filling his trembling body, Kyrt threw up his arms up in an effort to keep a distance between he and Rogna. It made no difference. Rogna continued advancing. She did not break stride.

Neither one said anything to the other. No words were necessary. It was pointless for Kyrt to beg Rogna to stop. It was pointless for him to call out for help.

With wide terrified eyes, Kyrt shook his head at Rogna. He waved his arms at her. It made no difference. She continued onward. Kyrt, continued backing away, not knowing where he tread. He stumbled back, bumping into console after console, trying to keep a distance from his attacker.

Kyrt took one more step back and stumbled. His foot came down on something round and hard. He lost his balance, and began falling backward. He flailed his arms, hopelessly hoping for something to grab. There was nothing. He tumbled backward, head first into the deck. He clinched his teeth and closed his eyes, waiting for the hard thump to ring through his head. It didn't come. Before he knew it, Rogna had him. With fingers like iron, she held him tight by his uniform collar.

Kyrt looked up at her, tracing the length of her stiff arm all the way up to her placid face. The image of the twisted body of the last man to get in Rogna's way flashed in front of Kyrt's face. He knew, at that moment, that his own life was about to meet a violent end. Fearing his painful demise, Kyrt's body could no longer handle the strain of terror. His eyes closed. His body went limp. He fainted.

Rogna, still holding Kyrt at arm's length, tilted her head to one side, studying him. Carefully, she lifted his body up. With both arms, she carried him, the same way she carried the other fellow. Slowly and steady, she walked toward the airlock door. It was still not completely closed. She reached up and pressed the flashing contact. Slowly, the door finished its trip, locking tightly closed. She closed one more contact. The cool hiss of air escaping from the airlock soon followed.

Still holding the limp body in her arms, Rogna, looked around the hopelessly damaged control room for a place to lay her cargo. Not far from her stood a long flat table pushed against an empty wall. Slowly, and ever so gently, she lowered the man's body onto the flat table.

She stepped back, studying the unconscious figure lying before her. As she stared, she was struck by the irony of the situation. Just a short time ago, it was she lying damage, then revived. Now the situation was reversed.

A single thought plagued Rogna's logic processors. Should she revive him, as he did for her? The idea to reactivate Kyrt could have dangerous results. She did not have sufficient information to make the proper decision. She decided to think it over more closely.

***

Rogna looked down at the fuzzy image displayed on the tiny flickering communication terminal. It was an image of a man, white haired and wrinkled. Rogna made some adjustments to the controls, but it was no use. The signal was weak. The system was too badly damaged. If it wasn't for the power running from her own battery to the communication panel, there wouldn't be enough energy to keep the line open at all.

"So, you see, sir," said Rogna, "the situation has escalated far out of control."

The elderly man at the other end of the conversation reached up to rub his chin in concentration. "I see."

Rogna tilted her head. "Sir?" she asked, "What would you have me do?"

The man raised his thick cottony white eyebrows allowing his eyes to peek through. "Murder is a serious offense. He's not in his right mind. That's for sure. However, he's still useful to us. Bring him back with you…for study."

"And the platform?"

"Is a total loss, eh? The OPG aren't going to be happy about that. Ah well, it was nearing the end of its usefulness anyway. Before you depart, steer it into a decaying orbit. Let it burn. We'll launch a new one next week."

"I understand, sir." With the conversation at an end, Rogna grabbed the thin line extending from her torso and yanked it free. The fuzzy image of the old man quickly faded away.

From the other side of the room came a panic stricken voice. "Hey, wait a minute!" Rogna turned around to see Kyrt, looking pale and frightened, coming at Rogna with arms raised. Rogna, surprised to see Kyrt functioning again, turned to face him.

Kyrt took a few staggered steps closer to Rogna before falling to his knees in a state of immeasurable despair. "What are you trying to do? Ruin me?"

Rogna, puzzled at Kyrt's overactive emotional state, tilted her head at him. "I do not understand."

"You told them the platform can't be fixed! Don't you see? I'll loose my job if I can't fix it. Why did you tell them that?"

Rogna's voice became flat and cold. The sound of it made Kyrt's blood freeze in his veins. "It is the truth, isn't it? This place cannot be fixed."

Kyrt, eyes wide, waved a panicked finger at the blue android before him. "And you told them that I killed that poor fellow we found. You want them to think I did it. Then you'll get away with it. I know you killed him. I know it!" Kyrt sensed he had said too much. He quickly cupped his mouth with his hand, hoping to hold back the words, but it was too late. He already said it.

At that moment, Rogna's personality changed. Like a hunter preparing to strangle the last breath of life from her prey, she stepped forward and knelt down beside Kyrt. The weakened man wanted to run, but his legs were cold and dead with fear. With a tremble on his lips, he looked up at the shadowy figure close to him.

Rogna moved in close. Her two titan-like arms reached out to Kyrt. She laid her iron hands on his shoulders and lowered her head so her eyes met his. In a cool voice, only slightly above a whisper, she said, "But, I didn't kill that man. You did."

Kyrt's breath grew shallow. His face grew whiter. With a twisted expression upon his face, he shook his head slowly and said, "What?"

"Look into my eyes," said Rogna. "It is time you learned the truth. Look into my eyes and you will see."

Kyrt blinked at bit, clearing the sweat from his eyes. He narrowed his gaze and focused on the two red orbs imbedded in Rogna's face. The deeper he stared, the more disconnected he felt. Slowly, he could feel his mind drifting, separating from his body. He almost felt as if he were floating, somewhere above his own body, waiting to be absorbed by the cold empty shell with the cold red eyes.

He was almost gone, about to be completely consumed by her, when he tore himself away from her mysterious grip. He fell backward against the ground, rubbing his eyes wildly. "NO! What are you trying to do to me?" he cried. "It's like you're stealing my soul, Rogna. Is that it? Are you trying to take my soul?"

"Don't be silly," said Rogna, almost laughing. "You don't have a soul. A robot does not have a soul."

Rogna's last statement hung in the air like the cold hand of death itself. Kyrt heard what she said. His mind tumbled and twisted around it, and yet he couldn't make sense of it. His face twisted in a knot once again. "What did you say?"

"Master Kyrt, I hoped to spare you the painful explanation. I hoped that you'd succumb to my neural link, but you keep fighting it. I suppose there's no other way but to talk you though it." Rogna looked at the ground where she knelt and proceeded to sit down. "Let's start at the beginning, shall we? What's the last thing you remember? Can you tell me that?"

Kyrt rubbed his chin. "The last thing I remember? Well, that's easy." He thought about the question. It seemed simple enough. The last thing he remembered would be easy to remember. "The last thing I remember…"

"Think hard," persuaded Rogna.

Then the words came. Like a trickling fountain turning into a waterfall, the words came. "The last thing I remember is finding you. That's the last thing I remember. Finding your head knocked off your body. That's when I arrived here on the platform."

"But that was only a few hours ago. Are you sure you don't remember anything else?"

Like an infant desiring more of something, but not knowing what, he looked up at her with woeful eyes. He tried to remember, but he couldn't. Nothing else would come. "What's wrong with me, Rogna? Do I have some sort of amnesia or something?"

"Kind of," said Rogna, calmly. "Now, I'm going to tell you a story, but you have to promise not to get too exited by it, okay?"

The broken man nodded nervously.

"You see, when you fixed me, you thought I was the one stationed up on the platform, but I was not. You are the custodian of this station, not me. When I arrived on the platform with that other man to make repairs, you attacked us. I tried to explain why we were here, but it was no use.

You picked up a metal beam and began to smash the place apart. Then you came after the human, beating him to death. I tried to stop you, but you were too fast. Then, once you had finished ripping apart his body, you attacked me. You swung the piece of metal at me, knocking my head clean off my body."

The man, truly enthralled by Rogna's story, looked up at her with damp eyes. "But I don't understand. Why should I attack?"

"You were right about one thing. A solar flare did strike the platform. It damaged your artificial brain in the process. It made you go mad. Don't you see, Kyrt? You're name's not Kyrt at all. Kyrt is the name of the man you killed. You took his identity after you killed him. Your real name is Ropo. You are a robot, like me."

"No," yelled Kyrt. "I am no robot!" He tried to back away from Rogna. He gripped his chest. "I have a heart beat. I have air in my lungs. I am no robot."

"You are a very sophisticated machine, that is true. But, nonetheless, you are a robot." Rogna moved a little closer to her confused captive, closing the gap forming between them. "Think about it, Ropo. First, in order to reattach my head, you had to roll my body over. I weigh over one ton. No normal human can move anything that heavy.

And after you reactivated me, you wondered why the environmental system hadn't activated. After all, they should have detected you as human and powered up. Why didn't it?"

"It could have been a malfunction, nothing more."

Rogna tiled her head in her now all too familiar manner. "If you remember, you said the platform would only have enough breathable air for twelve hours. Tell me, do you know how long you have been….asleep?"

"How long?"

"You been unconscious for more than twenty two hours. There hasn't been any air for you to breathe for at least ten hours. If you were human, you'd be dead by now."

Kyrt's head was swimming. Who was he? What was he? He placed his hand over his nose and breathed. His chest went in and out, but no air left his nose or pored over his lips. In his panicked state, shards of memories began to pierce his mind. Images of a man being ripped apart. Images of blood coating his hands. Images of a big piece of metal swinging from his hands and hitting Rogna's head. Could it be true?

In a blind panic, Kyrt jumped to his feet and ran for the airlock. Rogna, almost as quick as he, jumped to her feet and ran to him. Sensing her approach, Kyrt spun around to face her.

"You must calm down," she said with hands raised in a sign of peace. "I don’t want to hurt you. I want to help you."

"You can't help me!" yelled Kyrt. "First you'll take me back with you. Then they'll dismantle me. I killed a human. I must be destroyed."

"No, wait," yelled Rogna. She reached for him, placing a hand on his shoulder. Kyrt, finding his robotic strength, grabbed her hand and threw her over his shoulder, sending her crashing against the wall.

As Rogna struggled to her feet, she found a long strip of metal. It was the same piece of metal he had used against her. She held it up, waving it at the suicidal robot at the door. "You must stop. I can't let you destroy yourself."

Kyrt looked back at her, then returned to the airlock controls, ignoring her approach.

"Stop," she yelled, but he would not. Rogna knew she had to do something. The company wanted her to bring him back for study. She could not let him destroy himself. In a single motion, Rogna raised the metal bar and flung it at him, striking him in the neck. The force of the blow was so strong, it ripped right though, sending his head in one direction and his body in another.

It was over now. Finally, it was over. Rogna dropped the metal bar, letting it hit the floor with a loud clank.

Calmly and methodically, Rogna walked over to directional control panel. Carefully, she set the controls so that the platform would gracefully drift downward, ever so slowly, allowing the friction of Astria's atmosphere to burn it up.

She then walked over to where Kyrt's, or rather, Ropo's head lay on the ground. She picked it up and rolled it around in her hands. It was in tact. The artificial brain was not damaged. Her masters at the OPG would much rather have had the entire robot returned to them for study. Perhaps the head would be enough. It would have to be enough.