Caliban

Fredda shrugged and frowned. She tried to think back to that night, but it was all a jumbled fog. “I can’t seem to get that night very clear. I seem to recall standing in the room, leaning over one of the worktables, reading over some notes—but I can’t recall notes of what, and I can’t tell you how long before the attack that was. As I say, nothing is very clear. Maybe I’m even subconsciously inventing my memories, reaching for something that’s not there. I can’t know—and before you can even suggest it, I’m certainly not going to submit to any form of the Psychic Probe to clear up the uncertainty.”

Kresh smiled faintly. “I admit the idea had crossed my mind. But we should certainly pursue all the less drastic alternatives first. Perhaps we can jog your memory. These notes of your show were they stored? A paper notebook? A computer pad? What?”

“Oh, a very standard computer pad, with a blue floral pattern on the back cover.”

“I see. Madame Leving, I’m afraid there was no sign either of your computer pad or a red robot. The work rack was empty when we got there. And I assure you, we searched carefully.”

Fredda’s mouth fell open, and suddenly she felt dizzy. She had feared that the police might have discovered just what sort of robot Caliban was. That would have been trouble enough. But it had never occurred to her that Caliban might be gone. The devil help them all if some madman had switched him on and Caliban was wandering around loose.

“I’m stunned,” she said quite truthfully. “I simply don’t know what to say. At least now I know why I was attacked. Up until now, I could see no reason for it.”

“And what reason do you see now?” Kresh asked.

“Why, robbery, of course! They stole my robot!”

An expression of surprise flickered across Kresh’s face, and suddenly Fredda was flatly certain that the idea of a simple theft had never crossed his mind. “Why, yes, yes of course,” Kresh replied.

But he was interested in the fact that I saw red robot feet, Fredda thought. He knew that there had been a red robot there, and knew it was gone. Suddenly it dawned on her. Kresh had reason to believe that Caliban had left her lab under his own power. Galaxy! Had someone in her own lab been lunatic enough to switch him on? But she needed time to think. Maybe she could get Kresh to chase in other directions for a while. After all, she was merely guessing that Caliban had gone off on his own. “Space alone knows why anyone would want to steal a testbed robot,” she said. “All I can think is that this is some extreme case of industrial espionage. Some rival lab—or more likely, some third party hired by another lab—must have stolen my robot and my notes.”

“Who might that be?” Kresh asked. “What lab would be likely to operate that way?”

Fredda shrugged helplessly, and paid for the gesture with a fresh spasm of pain. But the pain itself was useful. The more obvious it was that she was in difficulty, the less likely Kresh was to keep the interview going. She had been trying to hold back her reaction to pain, but now she let it all out. It was not acting—the pain was real, the pain was there. But what point in a show of fortitude that merely made her own situation more difficult? She let out a gasp and grabbed the bedclothes with knotted fingers. There was a strange relief in letting go, in allowing the pain to come out, rather than be bottled up.

But Kresh had asked a question about the rival labs, and he was waiting for an answer. “I have no idea who would use such tactics. Obviously someone made off with my notes and my robot, but it strikes me as a very strange and pointless crime. After all, surely anyone who stole my work would know I would have backups, proof that the work was mine, the ability to reproduce my work. Someone did it. Just don’t ask me why.”

“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.