Robert Thurston - Intruder

Avery’s words stung Derec. It seemed as if the man was continually judging him, and finding him wanting.

“I think you two should get to know each other,” Ariel said. “You don’t need me around for that. I’m going to take a stroll. Perhaps I can find the missing Bogie. I mean, the real one.”

She walked out, an impish look on her face. She knew exactly what she was doing. The two Averys had to meet each other head to head, something neither of them could do with her around. She wasn’t sure why, but she thought something would have to happen between them, for good or ill.

After she left, Avery observed, “Well, your girlfriend’s ploy is quite obvious.”

“Stop! Don’t make her sound trivial by calling her my girlfriend.”

“Sorry. I thought you two were-”

“We are, but she means more to me than that.”

“I’ll choose better words. Do you like paramour, foxy lady, lollapalooza, some dish, the cat’s pyjamas, a tomato-”

“What are you talking about?”

“Just Earth slang. I’m a collector of ancient colloquialisms.”

“You told me something like that in a dream.”

“Did I?” Avery began to walk around the room slowly. He looked a bit more like his old self now, a shadow of it anyway. “Well, I don’t put much stock in dream mysteries. Symbols and clairvoyance and that sort of bilgewater scum. Buried in your brain somewhere, although you don’t remember it, you must remember observing me using the old slang terms.”

“Do you remember me observing you?”

Avery’s face softened. He looked almost kind.

“Yes. Many times. You used to come to my lab, sit on a high stool for hours, and watch me work. You not only picked up some of my scientific terminology, and probably my ancient lowdown slang, you were able to repeat a considerable number of my curses when you were a very young age. Embarrassed your mother no end-”

“My mother? She’s been in my dreams, too. She-”

“I don’t want to hear about your trivial dreams. You would probably assail me with sentimental theories, interpretations. I can do without psychobabble, believe me. Let’s get back to business, we-”

“No, wait. My mother, did she have blond hair, hazel eyes?”

Avery looked astonished. “Well, that’s true. I didn’t think you could, that is, I thought you had no memories of her.”

“No!”

The word was spoken so vehemently that Derec realized the subject must be difficult for him. Although he drew back from it, Derec had no intention of dropping it altogether. He would find out about her in any way he could.

“Was I a difficult child?” he asked instead.

Avery appeared ready to explode with anger.

“Can’t you get your bloody mind off nostalgic sentiment? We have to-no, wait, I’m sorry. I can be insensitive, I know that. It must be strange to you, having me as a father. I suppose an outsider might accuse me of having episodes of delusional paranoia, or perhaps intense megalomania. I hate such terms. Would-be interpreters of life hide behind words like that. Sometimes it seems that such words make them sound like they know something, instead of being the ignoramuses they are.”

Derec was confused by the changes in his father’s tone. He could sound like a normal father at one moment, even a rational human being, but then switch in mid-sentence to the sound of madness. Ariel’s treatment of him may have made him a more sensible human being, but clearly it had not completely cured him.

“Yes, Derec,” he said, his voice now eerily warm, “you had a more normal childhood than you suspect. Parents who doted on you and all that. You liked robots, and you picked up theories of robotics the way other children learn their letters and numbers. I helped you build your very own utility robot. You don’t remember Positron, do you?”

“No.”

He felt sad that he did not.

“That was the name you gave your robot. Of course, he was just a utility robot and didn’t even have a positronic brain, but I thought the name had a certain charm, and so I didn’t correct you. I suspect I didn’t have to correct you. Even that young, you probably knew what you were doing. You always know what you’re doing.”

“I wish that was true.”

“Isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Well, maybe the amnesia robbed you of some confidence, but you’re an Avery, as much as you resist the idea of being related to me. Itmay insult you for me to say it, but there are times when you do remind me of me.”

“It may surprise you for me to say it, but no, I’m not insulted. If I had your skills in robotics, I’d be, well, proud.”

Was it his imagination, Derec wondered, or did his father’s eyes momentarily glaze over? As he looked more closely into the man’s cool and detached eyes, he decided it must have been imagination.

“Well,” Avery finally said, “you’re pretty skilled in that area already. You may surpass me-and don’t say anything more about it now. We should pursue other subjects.”

“We will. Ina moment. I have to know one thing, then I’ll let you off the hook.”

“Just don’t mistake me for an affectionate father.”

“I could hardly do that.”

Avery had walked away from Derec, and his back was turned to him.

“You said we were once close,” Derec said. “Why did that change?”

The answer came out abruptly, bitterly.

“Your mother left me.”

“Tell me about her. “

“No.”

This time his “no” was spoken softly, but with no less firmness. Derec was going to have to work hard to find out anything about her, that was abundantly clear.

“Derec,” Avery said softly, “even talking with you is difficult for me. Don’t expect a plethora of revelations.”

Derec nodded. “All right, I won’t.”

He wondered if he should walk to his father, perhaps embrace him, perhaps ask him if they could start over, perhaps suggest that he would still like to sit on a high stool and watch Avery work.

He took one step toward his father but was interrupted by a noise at the door. Turning around, he saw Wolruf limp into the room. She was clearly on the point of collapsing.

Derec rushed to her and caught her before she fell. Gently he eased her to the floor and felt for her pulse. The slow rate of her pulse beneath her normally cold skin assured Derec that whatever injuries she may have sustained, she was alive and not in immediate danger.

Avery, reaching over his son’s shoulder, delicately spread areas of Wolruf’s fur apart. She winced with pain.

“There seems to be a bruise on her neck,” he said, “a big one.”

“He strruck me there,” Wolruf said in a raspy voice.

“Who?” Derec asked. “Who hit you?”

“The Bogie that iss not Bogie.”

“All right, Wolruf. I want you to tell me about it. But don’t strain your voice. Speak quietly, slowly.”

She explained what had happened when she had caught up with Bogie, and how Mandelbrot and Timestep had continued the chase.

“Okay,” Derec said when she finished, “you rest right here. We’ll get you to the medical facility as soon as we can.”

“No, Derrec. I will be fine ssoon. You have too much that’ss necessary to do now.”

“Well, we’ll see.”

Derec stood up and turned to his father, asking, “What do you make of it?”

“I have some suspicions, but you tell me what you think first.”

Derec felt an odd pride in the way Avery solicited his opinion, almost as if they were colleagues now.

“Well,” he said, “whoever attacked Wolruf, it wasn’t Bogie.”

“I agree, but why?”

“It simply wasn’t a Robot City robot. They are all programmed to accept her as a human. That is, although they know she is an alien, they are to apply the Laws of Robotics to her, too. If Bogie was stopped by her, he would have had to allow it, according to First Law. Instead, he retaliated.”