Then the Klikiss robot Jorax appeared at the Whisper Palace to demand an audience with King Frederick, his request caused an extraordinary stir. Palace guards marched out of their sheltered alcoves, and royal advisers scrambled to decide what to do.

From Hansa headquarters, Basil Wenceslas pondered his official response. He finally withdrew the old Teacher compy

OX from his training sessions with Prince Peter and dispatched him to wait beside the black alien machine.

“I have been instructed to keep you company.” Only half as tall as the big beetlelike robot, the compy stood newly polished and cleaned, his voice modulated to a new depth. He remained at attention, assessing and analyzing the Klikiss machine. OX was designed to learn, absorbing information and memories at every opportunity, though his mental core was already so full from centuries of personal experience that he had little room for anything new.

“I will wait here as long as necessary,” Jorax said. “Years mean nothing to us.”

After William Andeker’s “techno-dissection” debacle, security guards had cut their way into the sealed cybernetics laboratory, where they found the computer scientist dead, the laboratory ruined, and all data recordings erased. The Klikiss robot had stood calmly in the center of the room, motionless.

When Jorax finally spoke, his words had been brief. “The human scientist meddled with my circuits, despite my warnings not to do so. He inadvertently triggered an autonomic self-defense subroutine, with unfortunate and deadly results. I do not accept responsibility for the harm he brought on himself.”

Given the sparse evidence, investigators had little choice but to believe the robot’s version of events. Security had increased around Jorax, and surveillance monitored him more vigorously, but the alien robot had done nothing for several days. Until now, when he’d made his demand at the Whisper Palace.

“It is imperative that I speak with your King.”

OX seemed to intrigue the Klikiss robot. Jorax studied the small-statured Teacher compy, scanning him with scarlet optical sensors. OX waited, patient, and finally Jorax said, “You are a different sort of robot, made by humans.”

OX said, “I have been functional for three-and-a-quarter centuries. I served aboard the first human generation ship. After our alliance with the Ildirans, I returned to Earth to act as a Teacher and reservoir of data.”

“You are a statesman for compies?” Jorax asked.

“I speak for the humans, my masters. I have been present during the reigns of all six Great Kings of Earth.”

Jorax paused, assessing. “Such time spans are insignificant compared to the lives of Klikiss robots.”

“True,” said OX, “but I question the relevance of such a perspective, since you have retained no detailed memories.”

OX found that puzzling and disheartening. Memories from his long lifetime filled his circuits, and he was distressed to imagine how much data and insight had been lost from the vanished civilization. If robots such as Jorax could never remember, then the Klikiss race was truly lost for all time.