by Isaac Asimov
“You are right.” Dorothy sighed.
“Say now, what about a small lunch? You look as if you could need it.”
“Fine with me.” Dorothy smiled for the first time since they had left the estate. “Our next meeting is at three. So there’s enough time.”
“You know a place to eat?”
“You bet I do.”
Databank-Chapter Fourteen
Excerpt Identification File: Ephraim Kunde
Filename: kunde, [email protected]
Birthdate: 19-02-11221 (Standard Galactic Time)
Birthplace: Sapharo / Aurora, Starsystem Orion / SETTLER
Residence: 17, Earth-Place
28 MK 5095 Janus Metropolis / Janus, Starsystem Dionysus
http://uww.dionysus.com/janus/kunde.ephraim.htm
formerly:
822, Gold Drive
92 PQ 1867 Sapharo / Aurora, Starsystem Orion
Occupation: Executive, Janus Metropolis / Janus, Starsystem Dionysus
formerly:
Politician, Sapharo / Aurora, Starsystem Orion
Student, University of Freedom, Sapharo / Aurora, Starsystem Orion
Characteristics:
eye color: brown
hair color: black
height: 1.69 meters
Family:
Father: Kunde, Gabriel / Priest, Sapharo / Aurora, Starsystem Orion
Mother: Smuth, Daniella / Housewife, Sapharo / Aurora, Starsystem Orion (defunct)
Wife: Kunde, Kamilla / Architect, Janus Metropolis / Janus, Starsystem Dionysus
Son: Kunde, Steven / Student, Janus Metropolis / Janus, Starsystem Dionysus
Chapter Fourteen
EXECUTIVE EPHRAIM KUNDE’S premises were located in the surroundings of the parliament building. The hoo-cap arrived there exactly in time. The two suns still shone high in the sky, although not as intensely as before. Gordan, Dorothy and Calvin walked slowly on the perfectly even pavement towards the front door.
“Is it wise to take the robot with us?” Dorothy asked. “I guess you noticed Ceskov’s reaction to his presence. Kunde is a Settler as well.”
Gordan stopped to turn to Dorothy. “Calvin is a superb police unit and especially efficient in recording and analyzing conversations. And he is an official being on this planet, which has to be understood by everybody on Janus. He will be with us,” he said firmly. When he saw Dorothy’s irritated expression, he said, “But he can continue to stay quiet in the background and say nothing. Is that okay?”
Dorothy remained silent and just looked disappointed. Gordan was about to begin a debate on Settlers and robots when they reached the entrance. Dorothy pressed the doorbell and the door immediately opened.
“Ah, hello, Sheriff Rudchinson. And that must be Sheriff Kresh. I am Ephraim Kunde. Welcome.” Kunde hugged Dorothy briefly and then offered a hand towards Gordan. The man had a forcible, drenching aura, Gordan judged instinctively, an impression mainly elicited by his long, white hair that curled from his head in a disorderly fashion. Thick glasses supported the stereotypical image of an old, absent-minded professor.
“Yes. Gordan Kresh. Good day, Executive,” Gordan uttered due to Kunde’s unanticipated welcome of Dorothy.
“I know Executive Kunde from an event some months ago. He invited me for a dance then,” Dorothy explained soothingly.
“Yes, no need to be jealous - or rather, yes. Well, I did not have such fun ever since on this planet, I must say,” Kunde said cheerfully. He knocked friendly on Gordan’s shoulder. “But follow me, please. We will sit in the garden. With the sun out, it is most pleasant there.”
The difference between the two Executives could not have been more obvious, Gordan decided. In comparison to Ceskov, the verbose Executive Kunde was a vastly more sympathetic type. Kunde went ahead into the garden that was limited by a colorful wall of flowers and plants. Eventually, they took seat under an immense umbrella on a perfectly cut lawn. Calvin, however, remained near the entrance, although still in sight.
“A cool drink, maybe?” Kunde asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
Dorothy took the word first. “Executive Kunde. As indicated, we are here to ask some questions concerning the murder.”
“Yes, sure. Absolutely unbelievable, I tell you. Why Philemon? He was such a good and peaceful man.”
“He did not have enemies?”
“Enemies? No way. As I just mentioned, Philemon was a peaceful man. No, no enemies.”
“So what about rivalries?”
“Oh, well. Certainly.” Kunde made a kind of surrendering gesture. “That is the way politics work. Democracy needs different attitudes and opinions.”
“And who were his rivals then?” Dorothy asked.
“Well, naturally, the Spacers in the committee, in some respects at least.”
“Nobody from the Settler side?”
Kunde frowned and then took a deep breathe before continuing. “You know, Philemon was an influencing character. A man who was able to motivate people - including Executives - according to his beliefs…”
“Were you jealous on him?”
Kunde laughed shortly because of the question. “Oh no, Mrs. Rudchinson. I do not need that kind of charisma. I am perfectly happy with what I have.”
Dorothy answered with a smile, but Gordan thought his reaction to reveal rather the opposite: that he was indeed jealous of Philemon. Gordan could not point at it, but he felt that Kunde was distraught about this question.
“Executive, once more: What about the other Settlers in the committee?” he asked since Kunde had not answered Dorothy’s question.
“I do not know of any resentment.”
Dorothy crossed her legs when she leaned back into the shadow of the umbrella. The heat had gotten quite intense.
“Executive, have you noticed anything unusual during this meeting? Before the lights went off, I mean?”
“No, I cannot recall any irregularities. We were just discussing a new statute.”
“Concerning?”
“Concerning the establishment of commonages.” Kunde lifted his hand, a gesture that indicated an explanation would follow. “It was Philemon’s idea. He wanted the land to belong to everybody - not just to the rich immigrants.” As he spoke, Kunde pulled some papers out of a file that lied on the table and handed them to Dorothy.
“Here is a copy of the proposal. But please - this should not be broadcast to the public. Not yet.”
“Thank you. Let me assure you that it is safe with us.”
Kunde nodded briefly. Gordan leaned forward to ask another question. Kunde had begun sweating heavily and his drink was already empty.
“Was anyone against the statute?”
Kunde nodded. “Oh yes, some of the Spacers, especially Executive Mendez. He tried very hard to hamper the discussion. I do not know why exactly, but so it was.” He looked at Gordan with a solemn expression. “Do you have a suspect, Sheriff?”
“Everybody in the room is a suspect,” Gordan said, not without an accusing undertone.
“Oh…”
Dorothy hurried with the next question. “Please tell us what happened when the lights went off.”
“Well, naturally, all of us were caught by surprise. I wondered what was happening. Then I went slowly towards the windows in order to open the shutters. But before I managed to do so, the lights went back on again.”
“And then?”
“When everybody had calmed, we decided to continue with the meeting. I asked Philemon to proceed with his explanations, but he did not react. When I touched him, he collapsed on the table.” Kunde made a resigning gesture. “There was nothing to see, when I spoke to him – no blood, I mean. That is why I first thought it was a heart attack or something similar. So we called for an ambulance. It was only later that we were informed that the incident was a murder.”
While Kunde shook his head in disbelief, Gordan took a short look at Dorothy. Then he continued.
�
��Did you know Executive Philemon before you came to Janus?”
“No, I didn’t. Philemon is from Baleyworld; I come from Aurora, you see?”
Gordan nodded.
“All right, Executive. That will be it for now. Thank you for your time.”
“Ah, I was happy if I was of help to you.” Kunde turned to Dorothy and asked: “Maybe we can repeat our dancing someday?”
Dorothy smiled. “Maybe.”
They left with Kunde charming them all the way out. Back in the hoo-cap, Gordan asked Dorothy for her opinion.
“I really cannot believe that he would be able to commit a crime like that,” she answered solemnly. “As I said before, I knew him for a while already and…”
“Yes, why didn’t you tell me that you know him? I must have looked like an idiot,” Gordan interfered.
“… and he has always been so friendly and courteous. Not just to me, to all people he met,” Dorothy finished, ignoring his remark.
“Well, from my impressions, I would agree to you. But there was something that disturbed me.”
“What do you mean?”
“When he spoke of Philemon’s abilities, his jealousy was obvious. But in the next sentence he denied it.”
“So what?”
Instead of answering, Gordan turned towards the robot. “Thank you for not interrupting the interrogation, Calvin.”
“I was happy to fulfill your orders, sir.”
“Calvin, I guess from where you stood, you were able to see and hear everything. Tell us your impressions.”
“Certainly, sir. Executive Kunde was honestly shocked by the recalling of the murder. But he lied to you when Mrs. Rudchinson asked if he was jealous on Philemon. His body language gave him away then.”
“His body language?” Dorothy asked in bewilderment. “Now a robot is evaluating human behavior? Come on, why should he have lied to us?”
“As I told you before, I noticed this inconsistency as well and I trust Calvin in his observations,” replied Gordan.
“And you two are going to slice a motive for a murder out of that?” Dorothy asked angrily.
Gordan shrugged. “That is our job. We have to find possible motives. And we cannot just let anybody off the hook. Not if he was sitting directly beside Philemon. It would have been easy for him to commit the crime.”
Dorothy fluttered. “Believe what you want. I am sure that Kunde has nothing to do with this. Ceskov is so much more an obvious suspect. Isn’t he?”
Angrily, she throw her bag into the footwell. Gordan looked shortly to her, but said nothing. He felt as if he had insulted her best friend. Anyhow, she was obviously not in the best of moods for further conversation. For about ten minutes they drove in silence, until Calvin interrupted.
“Sir, there is a message for you on hypertext.”
“What is it?” Gordan asked.
“The Institute of Technological Intelligence has its first results from analyzing the malfunctioning robot. The scientists would like to talk with you.”
He nodded. “Okay. Bring us there.”
The Stars, Like Dust
4850 A.D.
One: The Bedroom Murmured
THE BEDROOM MURMURED to itself gently. It was almost below the limits of hearing–an irregular little sound, yet quite unmistakable, and quite deadly.
But it wasn’t that which awakened Biron Farrill and dragged him out of a heavy, unrefreshing slumber. He turned his head restlessly from side to side in a futile struggle against the periodic burr-r-r on the end table.
He put out a clumsy hand without opening his eyes and closed contact.
“Hello,” he mumbled.
Sound tumbled instantly out of the receiver. It was harsh and loud, but Biron lacked the ambition to reduce the volume.
It said, “May I speak to Biron Farrill?”
Biron said, fuzzily, “Speaking. What d’you want?”
“May I speak to Biron Farrill?” The voice was urgent.
Biron’s eyes opened on the thick darkness. He became conscious of the dry unpleasantness of his tongue and the faint odor that remained in the room.
He said, “Speaking. Who is this?”
It went on, disregarding him, gathering tension, a loud voice in the night. “Is anyone there? I would like to speak to Biron Farrill.”
Biron raised himself on one elbow and stared at the place where the visiphone sat. He jabbed at the vision control and the small screen was alive with light.
“Here I am,” he said. He recognized the smooth, slightly asymmetric features of Sander Jonti. “Call me in the morning, Jonti.”
He started to turn the instrument off once more, when Jonti said, “Hello, Hello. Is anyone there? Is this University Hall, Room 526? Hello.”
Biron was suddenly aware that the tiny pilot light which would have indicated a live sending circuit was not on. He swore under his breath and pushed the switch. It stayed off. Then Jonti gave up, and the screen went blank, and was merely a small square of featureless light.
Biron turned it off. He hunched his shoulder and tried to burrow into the pillow again. He was annoyed. In the first place, no one had the right to yell at him in the middle of the night. He looked quickly at the gently luminous figures just over the headboard. Three-fifteen. House lights wouldn’t go on for nearly four hours.
Besides, he didn’t like having to wake to the complete darkness of his room. Four years’ custom had not hardened him to the Earthman’s habit of building structures of reinforced concrete, squat, thick, and windowless. It was a thousand-year-old tradition dating from the days when the primitive nuclear bomb had not yet been countered by the force-field defense.
But that was past. Atomic warfare had done its worst to Earth. Most of it was hopelessly radioactive and useless. There was nothing left to lose, and yet architecture mirrored the old fears, so that when Biron woke, it was to pure darkness.
Biron rose on his elbow again. That was strange. He waited. It wasn’t the fatal murmur of the bedroom he had become aware of. It was something perhaps even less noticeable and certainly infinitely less deadly.
He missed the gentle movement of air that one took so for granted, that trace of continuous renewal. He tried to swallow easily and failed. The atmosphere seemed to become oppressive even as he realized the situation. The ventilating system had stopped working, and now he really had a grievance. He couldn’t even use the visiphone to report the matter.
He tried again, to make sure. The milky square of light sprang out and threw a faint, pearly luster on the bed. It was receiving, but it wouldn’t send. Well, it didn’t matter. Nothing would be done about it before day, anyway.
He yawned and groped for his slippers, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms. No ventilation, eh? That would account for the queer smell. He frowned and sniffed sharply two or three times. No use. It was familiar, but he couldn’t place it.
He made his way to the bathroom, and reached automatically for the light switch, although he didn’t really need it to draw himself a glass of water. It closed, but uselessly. He tried it several times, peevishly. Wasn’tanything working? He shrugged, drank in the dark, and felt better. He yawned again on his way back to the bedroom where he tried the main switch. All the lights were out.
Biron sat on the bed, placed his large hands on his hard-muscled thighs and considered. Ordinarily, a thing like this would call for a terrific discussion with the service staff. No one expected hotel service in a college dormitory, but, by Space, there were certain minimum standards of efficiency one could demand. Not that it was of vital importance just now. Graduation was coming and he was through. In three days he’d be saying a last good-by to the room and to the University of Earth; to Earth itself, for that matter.
Still, he might report it anyway, without particular comment. He could go out and use the hall phone. They might bring in a self-powered light or even rig up a fan so he could sleep without psychosomatic choking sensations. If not, to Space with t
hem! Two more nights.
In the light of the useless visiphone, he located a pair of shorts. Over them he slipped a one-piece jumper, and decided that that would be enough for the purpose. He retained his slippers. There was no danger of waking anybody even if he clumped down the corridors in spiked shoes, considering the thick, nearly soundproof partitions of this concrete pile, but he saw no point in changing.
He strode toward the door and pulled at the lever. It descended smoothly and he heard the click that meant the door release had been activated. Except that it wasn’t. And although his biceps tightened into lumps, nothing was accomplished.
He stepped away. This was ridiculous. Had there been a general power failure? There couldn’t have been. The clock was going. The visiphone was still receiving properly.
Wait! It could have been the boys, bless their erratic souls. It was done sometimes. Infantile, of course, but he’d taken part in these foolish practical jokes himself. It wouldn’t have been difficult, for instance, for one of his buddies to sneak in during the day and arrange matters. But, no, the ventilation and lights were working when he had gone to sleep.
Very well, then, during the night. The hall was an old, outmoded structure. It wouldn’t have taken an engineering genius to hocus the lighting and ventilation circuits. Or to jam the door, either. And now they would wait for morning and see what would happen when good old Biron found he couldn’t get out. They would probably let him out toward noon and laugh very hard.
“Ha, ha,” said Biron grimly, under his breath. All right, if that’s the way it was. But he would have to do something about it; turn the tables some way.
He turned away and his toe kicked something which skidded metallically across the floor. He could barely make out its shadow moving through the dim visiphone light. He reached under the bed, patting the floor in a wide arc. He brought it out and held it close to the light. (They weren’t so smart. They should have put the visiphone entirely out of commission, instead of just yanking out the sending circuit.)