Isaac Asimov - Caliban

“It’s possible that they merely wished to slow you down, delay you long enough to let their own people catch up—with the added advantage of having your work in front of them.”

“I suppose that could be, but we’re building quite a rickety tower of supposition here.”

Kresh smiled, a bit thinly. And yet there was real warmth behind that expression. The man was sincerely interested and concerned. “You’re right, of course. The trouble is, we have very little information to guide the investigation. Is there nothing else you can tell us?”

She shook her head. “Nothing I can think of.”

“Very well,” Kresh said, standing up. “I’m sure we’ll need to talk later, but you need your rest.”

“Yes. I have to be at my best to make my presentation tomorrow night.”

Alvar Kresh looked at Fredda in obvious surprise. “Presentation?”

“I’m sorry, I assumed you knew. My lab is to make a major announcement tomorrow night. I’m afraid that I am not permitted to discuss it until then, but—”

“Ah, of course. Yes, we’ve been running into all sorts of people telling us that they couldn’t talk yet, that we would have to wait for a public announcement. No one told us you were to make it. I find it surprising that they were all confident that you would be well enough to do so.”

“Jomaine Terach would have given the talk if I could not, or if not Jomaine, Gubber Anshaw or someone else. If no one told you I was going to give the talk, I suspect it was because they knew the announcement would be made, but not who would give it.” Fredda thought for a minute. “If I was attacked to prevent the talk from being given, then it would only make sense to keep the name of my replacement presenter secret. If I were the replacement, I’d see a low profile as a good idea.”

“So you think this attack could be related to your presentation?”

Fredda shrugged no , a bit too theatrically. Instantly the pain flared up again. Damnation, her head hurt. “I have no idea. But it’s certainly quite possible,” she said. “This announcement is to be made during the second of two lectures. Have you seen the first lecture?”

“No, I have not.”

“Then I would strongly suggest you get a look at a recording of it. There was a lot of material in there that could give someone a motive for coshing me. A lot.” Fredda Leving folded her arms and found herself staring fixedly at the hillock her toes made in the blanket. She had never quite believed that anyone would try to kill her for what she said.

“If it could suggest a motive for this attack, I will view it at the first opportunity. But you need your rest. We’ll just have to leave it at that for now,” Kresh said. “Come on, Donald.”

But Donald did not move to follow his master. Instead he spoke. “Your pardon, Lady Leving,” he said. “There are two questions that I feel are rather important at this time. For purposes of tracing or tracking your stolen robot, can you tell us if it had a name or a serial number that we might trace?”

“Oh, of course,” she said, silently cursing to herself. They would have to ask. “Serial number CBN-001, also known as Caliban. What was your other question?”

“Quite a simple one, actually. Can you tell us, Lady Leving, where your personal robot was at the time of the attack? We were told you did not take you personal robot to work. Why not? And, for that matter, where is that robot now? All that I see here are hospital robots.”

Damnation, Fredda thought. Trust Donald not to miss that one. By the look on Kresh’s face, he’s amazed that he didn’t think of it. Well, with Donald there monitoring her every reaction, nothing but the truth would do. “I no longer keep a personal robot at all,” she said very quietly.

There was dead silence in the room, the silence of stunned surprise, and Fredda balled up her hands into fists. The leading roboticist on the planet, and she kept no robot. It was as if the leading vegetarian on Inferno confessed to cannibalism.

“Might I ask why you no longer keep a personal robot?” Alvar Kresh asked, clearly working hard to pick his words carefully.

Fredda looked up from the foot of her bed, but she stared at the blank wall in front of her. She had no desire to look Alvar Kresh square in the eye. “Listen to my last lecture, Sheriff, and come to the next one. I believe then you will understand.”

The room was silent again, until Alvar Kresh at last concluded she was not going to say anything more. “Very good, then, Madame Leving,” he said in a tone of voice that made it clear the situation was anything but good. “We shall talk again later, you and I. Until then, may I wish you a speedy recovery?” He bowed to her, then turned and headed for the door. “Come, Donald.” The robot followed behind, the door opened and shut, and she was alone.

Fredda Leving sank her head back on the pillow and gave thanks that the interrogation was over.

Though she had no doubt that the trouble had barely begun.

ALVAR Kresh shook his head and patted Donald on the shoulder as they stepped out into the hallway. A few steps away from Leving’s door, he stopped and turned toward the robot. “I don’t know, Donald. Sometimes I think I ought to quit and have them make you Sheriff. How the devil did I fail to notice she had no personal robot?” he asked.

“It did not occur to me until we were in the hospital room, sir. I might also point out that humans are in the habit of ignoring robots, while robots must of course notice each other. Besides, there is the old saying about the dog that didn’t bark. It is always more difficult to notice what is missing, rather than what is there.”

“All the same, that was a vital question. We’re going to watch the recording of that first lecture the moment we’re home, and the devil take the hour. Nice work.”

“Thank you, sir. I would suggest, however, that confirming the name ‘Caliban’ is the more useful piece of information,” Donald said modestly. “We now have a direct, definite link. The two cases are one. The robot Caliban who vanished from the lab is the robot identified as Caliban by Santee Timitz at the arson site.”

“But what in the Nine Circles of Hell does it mean ?” Kresh asked. “What is going on?” He looked over Donald’s shoulder. “Wait a second,” he said. “Donald—behind you—is that—”

“Yes, sir. Jomaine Terach. The gentleman with him is, I believe, Gubber Anshaw, though the only police photos we have of him are of poor quality. I noted them on our way in.”

“The robots on guard know to keep them out?”

“They are following standard procedure in such cases, in accordance with the law. To prevent any attempt at intimidation, no person associated with the case may talk with the victim of an assault until such time as statements are received from that person and the victim. Unless we file legal charges, we have no right to prevent meetings once statements are taken.”

Kresh nodded. “In other words, we can stop Gubber Anshaw talking to her, but not Jomaine Terach. Which reminds me, it’s high time we talked to Gubber, anyway. But damn it, I’m tired.” Alvar Kresh reached up to rub the bridge of his nose. “Tomorrow,” he said. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow. But see to it the guard robots keep Anshaw away from her until then.”

“Yes, sir. I have relayed the order over hyperwave.”

“Good. Very good. Then let’s go home.”

“Sir, excuse me, but I fear you have neglected a vital point,” Donald said. “Am I not right in asking if I should issue orders to apprehend this robot Caliban?”

Alvar Kresh shook his head and sighed. “You’re right and you’re wrong, Donald. It’s risky to wait—but it could be just as risky to go out after him now. Think about it—if this is some bizarre Settler plot, clearly the point of it is to sow panic, throw a good scare into us. Surely, if that is the case, the plotters stand ready to exploit that panic, perhaps by staging something even more frightening than a robot committing arson. No matter what we do, the search for Caliban is bound to become public knowledge. Can you imagine the panic if word of a rogue got out—and a skilled conspirator set to work to build that fear?”