Suddenly, everything fell into place. Susan found herself nodding as she spoke. “Which explains your ability to assess a situation and figure out who to shoot without panicking. Also why you’re rescuing DIDIs. And why you’re so calm about this whole situation.”
“You’re my first DIDI,” Pal said. “And it doesn’t explain your coolness under the same pressure.”
A laugh escaped Susan. “I was hardly cool. I nearly decapitated myself on a giant pair of scissors.”
Pal opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could do so, the communications system buzzed.
Susan hit the proper button to connect it to her Vox, then responded. “Who is it?”
Detective Jake Carson’s familiar voice wafted into the room. “It’s Jake.” He did not joke, elaborate, or remind her of the arrangement they had made via Vox. The first time she had desperately needed his assistance, he had played along with her attempts to pass him off as a medical dispatcher. Had he not, she would have died at the hands of her captors. Jake always assumed someone was listening and did not need to know she was being visited by a police officer.
Without further discussion, Susan activated the button that would allow him through the downstairs locks and onto the elevator or staircase. “Excuse me while I handle this.” She rose and headed for the door. She had barely reached it when someone knocked. From instinct, she examined him through the peephole, finding Jake alone, dressed in his usual formal attire.
A cold wave of sweat washed over Susan. She had lost the opportunity to hide Nate, and Jake knew the robot by sight. He would have no choice but to arrest her. She opened the door just wide enough to slip through it and into the hallway. Letting the door swing shut behind her, she heard the faint click of the lock.
Jake back-stepped to allow her enough space to join him. He glanced around, which caused Susan to do the same. They were, apparently, alone.
“May I come in?” Jake asked reasonably.
Susan looked him straight in the eye. “Do you have a warrant?”
“No,” Jake admitted.
“Then no,” Susan said.
Apparently, she had rendered him speechless. They stood in silence for several moments before she broke it. “You came to tell me something about Nate,” she reminded.
“Nate, yes.” Jake seemed thrown by Susan’s behavior. He glanced over his shoulders repeatedly, licked his lips, then glared pointedly into her face before continuing. “Nate disappeared from a locked ambulance.”
Susan forced her expression to one of shocked concern. She should not know this information. “Disappeared? What do you mean ‘disappeared’?”
“I mean disappeared,” Jake repeated unhelpfully. “I mean that sometime between when several police officers loaded a four-hundred-pound robot into the back of an ambulance and when said ambulance arrived at its destination, it had vanished without a trace.”
“The ambulance?” Susan tried.
“The robot,” Jake corrected. “Nate.”
“So . . .” Susan wet her lips, too. “He came back online, slipped out the back—”
“No battery,” Jake pointed out. “I know that for a fact because you had dinner at my house last night and showed me the battery that Lawrence had removed from him.”
Susan suddenly wished she had kept her mouth closed.
Jake continued carefully. “You wouldn’t happen to still have that battery?” He added even more cautiously, “Would you?”
Susan did her best to look outraged. “As a matter of fact, I turned all of Lawrence’s possessions over to USR first thing this morning. Including the battery. I watched Alfred Lanning put it into a labeled case in order to study it for exposure to radiation or other contaminants.” She pinned a look of fierce accusation on her face. “You’re welcome to call him if you don’t believe me.”
They stared at each other for several moments. Finally, Jake sighed. “I’m just trying to get to the truth, Susan. You know Nate better than anyone. I thought you might have some insight.”
“Who says I know Nate better than anyone?”
Jake managed an awkward smile. “Well, you for one. And you ought to, given your . . . well, your father being . . .”
“Robotic?” Susan inserted.
Jake flushed; he had been sworn to secrecy. “Well, yes. You have the best idea how robots react and function in a practical sense. And Lawrence also says you and Nate had become close friends.”
Susan knew continuing to act indignant and defensive would only make her appear guilty. “Do you think someone stole Nate?”
Jake’s head bobbed. “It would have to be several someones. As I said, he weighs upward of four hundred pounds.”
They had already had the discussion about her father’s weight, but N8-C had been a prototype. It might have taken several tries to get the mass whittled down to normal human proportions. “Several someones, then. I happen to know the Society for Humanity is back in force.” Susan wished she could have derailed the conversation in any other direction. She did not want to talk about the shooting, did not want to become associated with that particular crime in case someone identified Nate as the man who had been with her at the time.
Jake stiffened, and his features softened. “What happened, Susan?”
“Three men with guns and a hedge trimmer tried to murder me in Central Park.”
“A hedge trimmer?”
Susan shrugged. “What’s one more decapitation between enemies?”
Jake did not respond to the jest, clearly deep in thought.
It suddenly occurred to Susan that Jake ought to be at work. “What are you doing here, anyway? I thought you weren’t involved in this case.”
That jarred Jake from his intensive focus. “I’m not involved with the homicide.” He met Susan’s gaze again. “I’m handling the ‘theft of evidence from police custody’ case.”
Susan had to stop herself from groaning.
“So how did you keep yourself from getting . . . decapitated?”
The door wrenched open suddenly to reveal Pal, no longer in jogging clothes. He wore khakis and a close-fitting T-shirt that he must have stored in his sidecar pack, his black hair still wind-tangled and his blue eyes as striking as when Susan had first glimpsed them. Unlike the oversized Windbreaker, the T-shirt revealed a well-developed chest, strong arms, and a six-pack of abdominal muscles. He held an empty glass in his left hand. “She did a great job ducking and running, but I helped her, too.”
Susan found herself speechless, staring.
Jake also studied the man with an intensity that befit his sexual orientation.
Pal stuck out a hand. “Pal Buffoni. Susan’s a bit old-fashioned. Doesn’t want anyone to know she’s living in sin.”
Jake caught Pal’s hand and shook it briefly. “Detective Jake Carson, NYPD.”
Pal stepped backward and gestured for Jake to enter.
Dread seized Susan. She tried to fling herself between Jake and the opening but managed only to stagger. Forced to tend her balance, she found herself incapable of useful action. Jake was inside before she could stop him. She tried to send a telepathic message to Nate: Hide. Oh please, have the sense to hide.
A figure hunched on a stool over the tiny kitchen table, dropping a half-eaten sandwich onto a paper plate. He brought the can of fizzy juice to his lips, swallowed, then wiped his hand on the back of Pal’s jogging suit sleeve. His hair was tucked under a baseball-style cap, and he looked out from a pair of unfamiliar glasses. It took Susan several moments to recognize Nate and, then, only because she knew he was the only other humanoid creature in the apartment.
As Susan seemed to have gone fully mute, Pal introduced the other two men. “This is Susan’s cousin, Layton Campbell, visiting us from Iowa. Layton, this is Detective Jake Carson.”
To Susan’s relief, Nate
did not rise to reveal his remarkable height. He simply stuck out his hand, clamped it briefly to Jake’s, and looked down at his plate.
Susan tried to explain. Jake knew she had no living relatives. “Once I found out my original last name, I was able to track down a cousin. We exchanged texts for a while before I talked him into coming for a visit.”
Nate played along. “Detective? As in police?” Though he questioned Jake, he looked askance at Susan.
Susan winced. “Another reason I didn’t want you to come in, Jake. I finally found a blood cousin, convinced him to visit, and didn’t want to scare him away.” She emphasized the words, hoping Jake and Pal would get the idea she still did not want her innocent “cousin” to know an organized group of radicals was attempting to kill her.
Jake responded to Nate first. “NYPD. I’m with the Chief of Detectives Field Internal Affairs Unit investigating the theft of a robot from police custody. Susan’s an old friend and familiar with robots, so I thought I’d stop by and ask her some questions.”
Nate nodded jerkily. Susan noticed he had changed his mannerisms and added a nasal quality to his voice. “I’ve heard her father was a brilliant roboticist.”
Jake smiled at Nate, speaking to him as if he were a child instead of the adult man he clearly was. “Susan’s no slouch, either. And she knows this robot particularly well.”
Caught up in her own lie, Susan found herself considering the way many New Yorkers viewed people from the central parts of the country: as uneducated bumpkins with antiquated notions and simplistic, foolish ties to a dark and seedy past. The thoughts, the politics, and the way of life of anyone living between New York City and California were reduced, by many, to an unsophisticated gulf that required the civilized, coastal peoples to lead them, to enlighten, and inform.
Susan shook the thought from her mind. For now, she had to concentrate on the lies. She had no idea how much Pal knew, how well he had prepared Nate, if at all. The smallest slip could result in serious consequences for all of them: immobility for Nate, jail for her and Pal, who had, perhaps unwittingly, become an accomplice. “Jake, would you mind terribly if we met in your office in say”—she consulted her Vox, which read 12:14 p.m.—“about an hour? We need to talk about this and . . . the other. I just want to get Layton settled in first.” She went deliberately vague in the hope of appearing as if she did not want her cousin to hear about the confrontation with SFH.
With clear reluctance, Jake glanced between the three of them, then bobbed his head. “All right, Susan. In about an hour. And bring your boyfriend.” He gestured toward Pal. “He’s a witness. Do you know where my office is?”
“It’s at 34½ East Twelfth Street.” Susan quoted the woman at the Tenth Precinct. “Between Broadway and Fourth.”
Jake lifted his head, clearly taken aback. “Yes. That’s right.” He started to say something more, then clearly thought better of it.
Susan answered the unspoken question anyway. “They told me when I asked for you. Said you’d been ‘flopped’ there. I recognized the address as the Police Athletic League, which I know by heart because of patient referrals.”
That seemed to put Jake at ease. “Yeah, all right. See you there in one hour.”
“One hour,” Susan promised, walking him to the door and letting him out into the corridor. Closing it, she stood facing it thoughtfully for several moments. Finally, she turned. “How did you—”
Susan found herself face-to-face with Pal Buffoni. He stood half a head taller than she did, his stunning eyes still his most prominent and arresting feature. She had not expected to find him so close. He still smelled faintly of sweat but also of laundry detergent from his now-clean clothing. She found herself enormously attracted to him. She could imagine his lips crushing hers, his body, lean and hard, pressed against her.
Pal responded to the half question. “You want to know how I knew what was going on.”
Breathless, Susan only nodded.
“I was listening through the door.”
She finally managed words. “But I’m against the door right now. I can’t hear anything out in the hallway.”
Pal displayed the glass, still clutched in his left hand. “You’d be surprised how much something like this clamped against the wood can amplify things on the other side.”
“You spied on us!” Susan realized aloud, hearing outrage in her declaration.
Pal placed the cup on the table. “Of course I spied on you. I shot three guys to bring you here safely. Did you think I’d just let you go alone into the hallway with a stranger?”
“Jake’s not a stranger,” Susan pointed out.
“To me, he is. Or was at the time.” Pal ushered her to the microscopic living room and its love seat. Even there, the three of them could not sit together. “Within the first couple of sentences, it was clear you were old friends and he was a cop. I put the stolen robot together with your paranoia. When I confronted him, your so-called cousin admitted the truth.”
Susan dropped onto the love seat, groaning. “It’s that obvious?”
Pal sat on the floor directly in front of Susan, between her and the blank entertainment-center screen. “MARSOC,” he reminded. “I’m trained to examine details, figure out puzzles, and make snap decisions. Often, they’re of the life-and-death variety.”
Susan buried her face in her hands. “Jake’s a detective. Do you think he put the same details together?”
“He didn’t have the same details,” Pal pointed out. “I had a woman dodging gunfire who didn’t want to go to the police and didn’t really care that her companion had gotten shot in the process. Layton said he didn’t need medical attention. What layman doesn’t want to see a doctor after taking a bullet?”
Nate joined them, sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Susan peeked at him through her fingers. “You really were shot?”
“Yes,” Nate admitted. “But I’m not hurt. It just took off a bit of skin; it’ll grow back.”
Pal continued. “Couple that with the conversation I overheard . . .” If he made a motion, Susan did not see it, her eyes still mostly covered. He added pointedly, “There are a lot more details I’d truly like to hear.”
Susan raised her head. “Why?” she demanded.
Pal stared at her through those ungodly eyes, and she dodged them to avoid becoming lost. “I can’t help you if I don’t fully understand—,” he started.
“No, I mean why are you risking your life and liberty to help a couple of strangers, especially knowing one isn’t even human?”
Pal shrugged. “I’m trained to save innocent lives; it’s what I do.” He amended, “Or what I used to do. In the park, you needed me. The reasons didn’t matter. Your enemies were using deadly weapons; you had none. That made them the bad guys.”
His explanation made sense to Susan. “But afterward, here, when you discovered I was a—a common thief.” Susan could barely speak the word.
Pal laughed. “Common?”
Susan fought a smile. He had a decided point. “You still helped us. You rescued us from a police detective. With deceit. That makes you an accessory, I think.”
Pal shrugged and looked at Nate. “During training, they told us that once you’ve saved someone’s life, you often feel more indebted to them than they do to you. It feels more like responsibility than gratitude, but I know what they were talking about. Maybe it’s because rescuing a DIDI makes me feel like a hero. Maybe it’s plain old curiosity; I find you fascinating, and I want to know more. Maybe the adrenaline junkie in me craves the wild ride you’ll surely provide if I just stick with you. But mostly I think it’s just the elemental desire to spend as much time as possible with an attractive woman.”
Susan could feel her face growing uncomfortably warm. “Now I know you’re lying.”
Pal’s brow furrowed. “How so?”
<
br /> “I do own a mirror.”
“Most people do.”
Susan sighed, wishing he did not make her say it. “Even my father never used the word ‘beautiful’ to describe me.”
Pal ran his gaze up and down Susan’s entire form, which only served to make her more uncomfortable. “Perhaps not in the classical, airbrushed-model sort of way, but you have a natural and casual beauty that’s all your own. I like the way you move and how you don’t freeze in the face of danger. I find your lack of makeup and carefree attitude toward your own looks refreshing. Surely I’m not the first man to find you highly desirable.”
Susan had to admit he wasn’t. She had found Remington’s interest in her just as shocking, and he had clearly loved her enough to die for her. Kendall had also developed an attraction to her, though only after long association and denial of his own homosexuality. “No,” she admitted. “You’re not the first. But you’re so . . .” She made a motion to indicate the sheer perfection of him from head to toe.
Susan’s gesture seemed only to confuse Pal. “I’m so what?”
Susan did not know what to say. His appeal was so obvious. “So movie-star gorgeous. So shockingly handsome.”
Now it was his turn to blush. “I’ve never seen myself that way. I don’t suppose anyone looks sexy in a helmet and body armor, plastered with sweat and reeking of gunpowder.” He laughed at some unshared image. “Unless he’s in a movie. I’ve always thought my eyes looked as if someone cut and pasted them in. They don’t fit. As to the rest of me, I just look more and more like my father every day. Who considers his father attractive?”
Susan had, but she felt it better not to say so. It might sound weird, especially if Pal had overheard her finish Jake’s sentence about her father with the word “robotic.” “You do realize you just told a police officer you’re my live-in boyfriend. You’re going to have to spend a lot more time here to keep him from growing suspicious.”
Isaac Asimov's I, Robot: To Preserve Page 11