Susan smiled. “Dr. Calvin it is, then.” She wondered if Amara knew about the true nature of her father. Lawrence and his roboticists had kept the information need-to-know, a secret even from Susan. They had never wanted her to find out, and the fewer people with the information, the less likely it would leak, purposefully or accidentally.
Amara rummaged through her desk for the proper equipment to set Susan’s retinal pattern and print to the door lock. “It would help if you insulted my coffee now and then.”
Susan laughed, recalling her father referred to it as motor oil. Although, now that she knew he had been a robot, the jibe seemed more apt. “I’ll do my best.”
Amara set out a palm reader. “Right hand here.” She held out a smaller, circular device. “Right eye here.”
Susan did as instructed. A blinding light pulsed into her eye briefly; then Amara put the instruments away and tapped some information into her computer. She gave the last key a hard strike. “Done.” She looked up. “Now you can access the building whenever you need to. Some of the labs have additional security. I’ll let Drs. Robertson and Lanning decide which ones to open to you.”
Susan blinked rapidly several times to clear the blue blob of afterimage in her right eye. “So Lawrence called you yesterday afternoon?”
“Just before closing,” Amara confirmed. “He said you’d probably drop by this morning.” She returned to her keypad. “I’ll need your address, your bank, and your Vox number.”
Susan hesitated, so Amara explained.
“We need to know where to send your wages. Also, how to get hold of you.”
Wages? Nudged from her focus on Lawrence and Nate, Susan said, “Of course.” She supplied the requested information, and Amara typed it into the USR system. It was all happening so fast. “I don’t think I’m due for any wages until I’ve finished my schooling, though.”
“Well, Dr. Robertson seems to think you are. He’s covering your tuition, you know.”
Susan’s cheeks grew warm. “He suggested that, but I didn’t think it was a done deal. He has more important things to worry about at the moment.”
“He’s not risking the possibility of losing you.” Amara grinned. “If you’re half as talented as your father, and he seems to think you’re more talented, he’s not going to take a chance on losing you.”
Apparently. Susan finally managed to blink away the last of the nebulous blue patch. “Well, I’m not going to accept any payment until I’ve cleared him and Nate.”
The door whisked open. Susan turned to see Alfred Lanning, George Franklin, and a roboticist she knew only as Javonte entering together, engaged in a rousing conversation that stopped the moment they noticed Susan. George was the youngest of the three, a gangly youth in his twenties who towered over the others and whom Lawrence had introduced to Susan as one of his top roboticists. Javonte was a handsome, fine-boned man of mixed race with chiseled features, soft brown curls, and dark eyes swept with long lashes. The director of research, Alfred Lanning was frumpy and balding, wearing a suit that seemed perpetually wrinkled. The first time she met him, he had seemed older but was probably not yet forty, more than a decade younger than Lawrence and her father.
Susan shook hands with each man in turn. “Good to see you all again.”
Alfred gestured for Susan to follow him to the office he had shared with John Calvin and two others she had not yet established. She only knew the room contained four desks. Likely, at least one of the men who had accompanied him worked in the same room, but neither of them attempted to follow. Alfred ushered her inside first, then shut the door behind them.
Three of the desks faced one another in an open portion of the room. In the left-rear corner, one desk sat apart, divided from the rest of the area with cubicle partitions. Alfred flopped into the chair behind the latter desk, leaving Susan to scrounge the one from behind what had been her father’s desk. She scooted it in front of Alfred and dropped Lawrence’s envelope on top of the jumble of bric-a-brac on his desk.
Alfred made no move to take it. “What’s this?”
“Lawrence’s effects.” Susan studied Alfred’s reactions only from habit. Lawrence had a gift for choosing loyal and dedicated workers. Though his director of research lacked some common social skills, his devotion to Lawrence and to USR was never in question. “Vox, wallet, belt. Standard stuff. Except for this.” Susan took the envelope and eased out the atomic battery.
Alfred glanced at the object in her hand. “Standard robot operations battery. Atomic core.” He nodded once. “This is from N8-C?”
“Yes.”
“Lawrence said you’d bring it. Wants me to study it, see if it reveals anything.”
“I’d gathered that.” Susan closed her fingers around it lightly, worried to drop it. “But what can you learn from a battery?”
Alfred shrugged. “I’m not sure, but it’s worth a try. The positronic brain can be highly susceptible to certain types of radiation. If we can find evidence of pulsatile or sustained exposure deep enough to affect the battery, we can hypothesize similar exposures to the brain.” He shrugged again. “It may give us some useful information.” He opened a drawer in his desk and fished through the contents. A frown scored his features. Finally, he took something out and laid it on the desktop. Susan recognized it as a small plastic case containing a similar battery. “I was hoping to find an empty,” Alfred explained, dumping its contents, a similar battery, onto the surface. He proffered a hand.
Susan slid N8-C’s partially used battery into Alfred’s waiting palm. He pinched it between the thumb and index finger of his other hand, held it up, and examined it in the light. With an unrevealing grunt, he placed it into the now-empty case and pawed through his desk drawer again.
While Alfred searched for something, Susan examined the battery he had dumped from the case. It looked exactly the same as the one she had brought, except a bit shinier and without a single scratch, apparently brand-new.
Alfred Lanning brought out a fat black marker, which he used to write on the case in crisp letters: “N8-C.”
Without any particular plan or reason, Susan palmed the new battery and waited for Alfred to notice its absence.
If he did, Alfred said nothing about it. He did not appear to look around for it, either. He simply placed the now-full case into his drawer and studied Susan instead.
Susan asked the question that had plagued her since Lawrence had rendered Nate immobile. “How long does he have?”
Wrinkles appeared at the upper reaches of Alfred’s nose. “What do you mean?”
Susan explained. “How long before Nate’s positronic brain loses its data from lack of power?”
Alfred sat up straighter, suddenly alarmed. “Did Lawrence remove both batteries?”
“Both?” Susan repeated, guarded hope rising in increments. “You mean he’s got a backup?” She could imagine Nate coming to sudden life in the evidence room, spooking the guard. The generalized panic that might ensue would not help their cause.
“Just for the brain,” Alfred explained. “We usually put the housings on the chest and head for easy access. We ship robots without their ‘life’ battery to prevent accidents, but the ‘brain’ battery has to be there from the start, or everything we taught it will be forgotten upon arrival. Especially when we’re shipping all the way to the Mercury mission. To activate, they merely place a ‘life’ battery in the chest compartment.”
“Lawrence only removed the one battery.” Susan considered. “But not from the head or the chest.”
Alfred nodded. “As you recall, the NC line was designed to pass for human, which meant we couldn’t have a battery housing in a place where people would likely notice it. They’re not designed for functional sexual activity, but they can pass in a locker room.” His cheeks turned pink as he continued. “You have no reason to find yourself in a men’s roo
m, so you’ll have to take my word for it. We may take a surreptitious glance at another man’s . . . um . . . nether regions, particularly if there’s a size extreme.” The color in his face flared to mauve. “But it’s considered rude to the point of fisticuffs to stare.”
Susan took Alfred’s word for it. “So the ‘life’ battery is housed . . .”
Alfred pointed at his navel. “No one notices lines and scars there. And the ‘brain’ battery is . . . well . . . it screws off at the base.” His cheeks were now positively crimson.
Susan did not further embarrass him by requesting the definition of “it.” She should not have any reason to remove Nate’s ‘brain’ battery.
“It was only after John Calvin’s decapitation last year that we recognized the design flaw.” Once he was back on solid footing, Alfred’s facial color faded. “You could detach the head of most robots without losing any data, but not the NC’s.”
Susan did not wish to relive the crime or contemplate the possibility that the opportunity of reconstituting her father might have existed if only they had kept the battery compartment in its usual place. She felt certain Alfred had not intended any ill will by his casual discussion of a sensitive topic. It went back to his iffy relationship with social skills.
Clearly ignorant of Susan’s discomfort, Alfred allowed the corners of his mouth to twitch northward, probably the closest he ever came to a smile. “Welcome aboard, Dr. Susan Calvin. USR is pleased to have you on the team.” He said it without emotion, yet Susan did not doubt his sincerity.
She did not know what to say. “Thank you,” she managed. “But don’t you want to wait until I have my robotics doctorate?”
“What for?” Alfred said gruffly. “It’s just a matter of a fluffy piece of paper. We know you’ve already aced Columbia’s master’s level mathematics and science classes. Your medical school classes will pass you out of almost everything else.”
During college, Susan had blasted through all the undergraduate calculus and physics classes, spending most of her time in them tutoring fellow classmates. Seeing her potential, her adviser and some helpful professors had pushed her upward with special consent. It was not something she talked or thought about, and she wondered how Alfred knew.
Alfred answered her question before she could ask it. “All fathers brag about their children.”
Susan smiled. “Even John?”
“Endlessly.” Alfred sounded almost overwhelmed with boredom at the memory, which made Susan laugh. “We knew you long before we met you. Then, after you and that boyfriend of yours . . .”
“Remy?” Susan inserted.
“Yeah, that one.”
As if Susan could ever forget the name. Remington Hawthorn. Why did my one and only soul mate have to be a hero?
Clearly ignorant of Susan’s turmoil, Alfred continued matter-of-factly. “After you joked about robots and psychiatry, we got to talking and realized the vast potential of having a psychiatrist on staff. Especially a brilliant one, familiar not only with the Three Laws, but with the mathematics behind the positronic brain.”
Susan could not help pointing out, “Something I’m wholly ignorant about.”
“But which you have the potential of learning, something few people can boast. And quickly. Neither Lawrence nor I have any doubt about your ability to do so.”
Their faith in her warmed Susan. She did not yet share their certainty but suspected neither of them made a lot of mistakes when it came to intellect or judgment of it. “I’ll do my best,” she promised. “But I still think placing me on the USR staff roster and payroll is premature.” She rehashed the argument she had had with Lawrence, in simpler form. “Until I’ve earned my robotics PhD, I’m only going to consider myself a robot therapist at best.”
Alfred tipped his head. “Call yourself whatever you wish, but you’re listed as our robopsychologist, and I’m not going to change it without Lawrence’s authority. We need you on the payroll, Susan, because we want you working for us as of this moment.”
“But I can’t,” Susan protested.
Alfred’s brows crept upward, but he allowed her to continue.
“I can’t commit to any job until I . . .”
The dark eyebrows continued to rise.
“See Nate and Lawrence free—” Susan suddenly got it. “Oh.”
Brows now practically at his hairline, Alfred repeated, “Oh,” then added, “We may have built N8-C and his ilk, piece by piece, written all their codes and software, but you know N8-C better than anyone.”
Susan could only nod. “And my first assignment is to find out what actually happened, to testify in court, if necessary, and to prove the innocence of Lawrence Robertson and Nate.”
Alfred continued where Susan stopped. “And, hopefully in the process, convince the public they have nothing to fear and everything to gain from positronic robots.”
“I see,” Susan said carefully, flashbacks of the previous year parading through her mind. She did not enjoy dodging bullets, hated it in fact, but the quick thinking that had eventually rescued them had given her an unanticipated thrill. She needed Detective Jake Carson, or someone like him, who thrived on physical adrenaline, to assist her. The thinking parts she could handle on her own.
Agony accompanied the memories, so vivid Susan suddenly found herself fisting tears from her eyes. She had lost her parents and Remy to the violence that accompanied the Society for Humanity’s detestation of everything robotic and the desire of the Department of Defense to weaponize them. Someone had gone to great pains to make it appear as if Nate had slaughtered an eminent doctor, one known not only for his groundbreaking advances in psychiatric medicine but also for his willingness to employ robots in the process. For the Society for Humanity, it was a twofer: the death of a scientist who advanced the use of robots as well as the enhancement of the Frankenstein Complex in the public’s mind.
Despite his social ineptness, Alfred seemed to properly read Susan’s hesitation. “It’s your choice, Susan. If you think the job you’ve been assigned is too dangerous, you can refuse it. We’ll still hire you. Lawrence won’t risk anyone else snapping you up, even if he has to run the company from jail.”
Susan studied Alfred Lanning. If he did not slouch, he would probably stand a solid six feet or even a few inches taller. He was slender, almost gaunt, with ferocious eyebrows and an unkempt shock of brown hair. He reminded her of images of a young Andrew Jackson, before he turned gray and his hairline receded. With a shock, she realized she had little to lose. With all her loved ones dead, she was risking no one’s life but her own and those already involved for reasons that had nothing to do with her. “I’ll do it,” she told him. “Full disclosure: I’d do nothing different without the promise of employment or pay. I’m not going to allow either of them to rot in prison.”
“Full disclosure,” Alfred said with a grin. “I never doubted for a moment that you would.” If he noticed Susan had taken the fresh atomic battery, he gave no sign. He appeared to have wholly forgotten it.
• • •
Susan spent most of the next hour pacing from room to room of her tiny apartment, focused on the problem, time constraints, and with no idea of where to go next. Her conversations with the police, Lawrence, Jake, and Alfred had mostly thrown the responsibility back into her own lap. At least she no longer had to worry about a source of income and whether she had made a critical mistake by quitting her residency. That she fit at United States Robots and Mechanical Men was a no-brainer. She worried more that she might have committed her future to a company that had none. Without Lawrence, with the public certain robots posed a lethal danger, USR could no longer do business and would soon cease to exist.
Susan awakened to the realization that she needed to do her own investigation. She had no idea what the police might have found at the scene or how to gather any information they might have
missed, but she knew she had to try. She suspected Jake might help her with that, at least, so long as he did not have to confront or contradict other policemen. More important, Susan knew she needed to interview the one witness the police could not, Nate himself. Now that she knew his positronic brain was essentially safe, she only needed to gain access to him and replace the “life” battery that would enable him to speak.
At the hospital, Susan had met with Nate in the wee morning hours more than once and knew no one powered him down, at least not most nights. Requiring no sleep, robots could quietly work every hour of the day; or, for those owners who feared their robotic workers might plot against them when not being watched, the battery could simply be removed every evening. It further occurred to Susan that even that was not necessary. The Second Law required them to obey any order given by human beings, which meant someone could simply instruct them to become paralyzed, deaf, dumb, and blind, and they would literally not see or hear what happened around them. She also realized the danger. Without an aforementioned release trigger, such a command could render the robot useless.
Susan shook off the thought. She had plenty of time to consider all the psychological aspects of robotics, the entire rest of her life to dedicate to the endeavor, but only if she freed Lawrence Robertson from prison and cleared Nate’s name. For now, she had to focus on finding a way to speak with Nate. Whatever information he gave her would assist in their investigation as well. Assuming Jake was right, that the police wanted to get to the truth, not simply close a case, they should see the logic and purpose behind her request.
Susan considered the situation on the familiar glide-bus ride toward Manhattan Hasbro Hospital. She only needed to remain on board for one additional stop, about a half mile, to wind up at the offices of the Nineteenth Precinct. There, she hesitated, the whoosh of the closing doors strangely loud in her ears despite the mingled conversations of myriad passing pedestrians. Without any memory of consciously walking, she found herself in the small parking lot behind the precinct, attempting to compose her thoughts.
Isaac Asimov's I, Robot: To Preserve Page 8