Isaac Asimov's I, Robot: To Preserve

by Mickey Zucker Reichert

  Rather than reply directly to Pal, Kendall raised his voice and aimed it at the bedroom. “You can come out now, Nate. I know robots don’t get sick.”

  Susan made no attempt to deny it. That Kendall would risk shouting such a thing meant he harbored absolutely no doubt about Nate’s identity. Nothing she said would change his opinion, except to make him less impressed with and trusting of her. Instead, she reinforced Kendall’s words, only to reassure Nate. “It’s all right, Nate. Come on out.”

  A moment passed, then Nate appeared shyly at the doorway.

  Susan waved him into the kitchen, and he complied, though he did not bother to sit. He stood beside her awkwardly. Susan realized they needed to know how Kendall had seen through the ruse, especially so swiftly. They could not risk it happening again. “What gave us away?”

  Kendall gave up all pretext of eating. “I don’t think many people would believe Nate’s a robot, even under normal circumstances.” He rose and approached Nate, examining him diligently. “Nothing specific gave him away. It’s a constellation of things.”

  “Which are?” Pal pressed.

  Kendall continued to examine Nate, touching here and there, as if he were purchasing a horse. Nate raised his brows and gave Susan a look that suggested he did not enjoy the perusal.

  Kendall retook his seat. “First, I know he’s missing and that Susan’s the person most dedicated to keeping him out of trouble. Second, he’s like twenty-seven million feet tall.”

  “Six foot eight,” Nate supplied.

  Susan stopped him with a raised hand. She wanted Kendall to continue, taking no chances that any stray comment might derail him.

  Kendall obliged, “Third and most important, I’m one of a scant handful of people who actually spent a significant amount of time with Nate. I know his speech patterns, his remarkable agility, his mannerisms. He’s doing a great job hiding those, but, just like any human, they slip through.”

  Susan found it hard to believe Kendall had detected all that through one brief conversation. “He sounds completely different to me.”

  Kendall nodded, shorthand agreement. “I’m not talking about tone, pitch, accent. It’s how a person breathes when they speak, the pace and quality of their timbre, the subtleties that differentiate one person’s voice from another.”

  Susan stared at Kendall. “I don’t think I . . . notice that.” It seemed an odd thing for her to confess to him, especially after he had referred to her as Sherlock Calvin, complimented her extraordinary ability to notice subtleties and link them to diagnoses.

  Kendall clearly tried to hide any reaction, but as he spoke the corners of his mouth bent slightly upward. “I believe everyone does to some extent, just not usually consciously.”

  Pal drove to the heart of the matter. “Does Jake know?”

  “No.” Kendall amended, “At least, he didn’t give me any reason to think he does.” He hesitated a moment, then said, “Susan . . .”

  As she was already looking at Kendall, Susan did not say or do anything in response.

  “Don’t you think Jake deserves to know . . . everything?”

  “No!” Susan and Pal said together.

  “He’s always done right by us,” Kendall pointed out, a bit sullenly.

  Susan could not deny it. “Yes, Kendall, but this is different.”

  Kendall slumped back on his stool, arms crossed, waiting for the explanation.

  “It’s not fair to put Jake in a position where he has to choose between his job and his loyalty to us. First of all, I’d wager we’d lose, and that’s not good for anyone. Nate would go back into stasis, unable to assist with his own case and probably on a short list for destruction. All three of us would wind up in jail, me for the theft and you as accessories.”

  Kendall pointed out, “But I’m not an accessory yet. If we share the information with Jake—”

  Susan mentally finished with, “Then Kendall never becomes one.”

  But Pal spoke the ending aloud and much differently than Susan’s thoughts. “Then I stomp you into a smear on the carpet.”

  Though Pal made no motion to carry out his threat, it hung in the air.

  Kendall raised his hands in an ageless gesture of surrender. “No telling Jake; I get it.”

  Susan attempted to soften the situation. “Kendall, think about the spot you would put Jake into if you did. He’s tasked with finding Nate and the party responsible for . . .” She tried to put her crime in the mildest light. “Um, liberating him from the ambulance. He’s also on probation.” She shrugged broadly, the rest obvious. “At the present time, either Jake doesn’t know the whereabouts of Nate and doesn’t suspect me, or he subconsciously knows but won’t allow it to enter his conscious mind. Either way, he doesn’t have to investigate me. However, if any of us tells him the truth, he has no choice but to arrest us.”

  “All of us,” Pal added, “because I’m going to swear on sixty Bibles that you were part of this from the start.”

  The more people who knew about Nate, the more dangerous the game became. Pal clearly already realized it. Susan knew he was right. She despised lying but had already done so out of necessity. She doubted she could implicate someone innocent, but she needed to bluff Kendall. “So am I.”

  Kendall clamped his mouth shut and picked up his fork. He twirled it between his fingers for a moment before speaking, almost in a whine. “I think you’re misjudging Jake, but don’t worry. I’m not going to tell him about Nate.” He clearly needed to add, “And, by the way, my decision to keep my mouth closed has nothing to do with your threats. I truly believe it would be a detriment to society to lose Nate or Susan, even temporarily.” He continued in a brave voice. “Not so sure about you.” The last comment was obviously directed at Pal, though Kendall did not have quite enough courage to look the ex-Marine in the eyes.

  An uncomfortable silence followed as all three returned to eating. Nate broke it, his voice sounding soft after Kendall’s pronouncement. “Perhaps it would be best if I were destroyed.”

  Susan dropped her fork. It thumped against the counter, then bounced to the floor tiles with a muffled clatter. She did not bother to pick it up. “What? What . . . do you mean?”

  Nate continued sensibly. “Destroy me, and the killer robot is gone. The world can return to normal.”

  Pal shook his head, rolling his eyes. Kendall’s brows shot up. Susan explained their reactions. “Nate, it’s not nearly that simple. First, Lawrence would still be tried for the murder. Your disappearance would only make him appear guilty.”

  Nate, apparently, did not see it. “How so?”

  Kendall took over, “Because people would assume you killed Dr. Goldman, and that act of killing defines Lawrence’s guilt since he is your creator and programmer.”

  Susan had several more points. “It would mean the end of U.S. Robots and, quite possibly, robotic development. At the least, it would mean the demise of the greatest invention in the history of the world.”

  “I assume you mean the positronic brain, not honey fries,” Kendall said.

  Pal retrieved Susan’s fork, tossed it in the sink, and snagged her a fresh one from the silverware drawer. “I assume that’s what allows Nate to act so . . . human.”

  Though true, the suggestion bothered Susan. “In most ways, better than human because he can’t harm anyone and he has no real concept of treachery or deceit. He has all the positive aspects of humanity: emotion, dexterity, intelligence with few of the negatives and no ability to think the worst thoughts or perform the worst actions of humanity.” She accepted the fork from Pal.

  Kendall pinned Nate with his gaze. “So who killed Ari Goldman?”

  Susan answered before Nate could. “We still don’t know. Whoever it was incapacitated Nate prior to dealing the fatal blow, then made it appear as if Nate were the killer. Since he has no real
concept of duplicity, even Nate worried he might have done it, though he has no memory of it.”

  Still addressing Nate, Kendall asked, “And you didn’t see anything? Anybody?”

  Nate shook his head. “One moment fetching Schmidt capillary tubes, the next standing over Dr. Goldman with a Stanley 55-099 FatMax Xtreme FuBar Utilty Bar.”

  Kendall glanced at his plate. “Nate couldn’t have actually done it. We know that for a fact.”

  Nobody bothered to respond to the statement that could have, just as easily, been a question. Susan moved on. “A significant amount of time passed between those two events, during which Nate had to have been . . . well, ‘turned off.’ Exactly what happened is what I have to figure out.”

  “We have to figure out,” Pal corrected.

  “We, indeed,” Kendall added. “If I’m going to be an accessory, I’m going to be one hell of a useful accessory.”

  The idea rankled Susan. “It could get extremely dangerous.”

  Kendall gave her a pointed look. “More dangerous than leaping on a bomb-laden, murderous schizophrenic the size of a Buick on a crowded street? More dangerous than professional snipers? More dangerous than G-men blowing the brains out of the guy standing next to you and claiming you’re next?”

  Nate grimaced.

  “G-men?” Susan repeated dubiously. “Who are you, Al Capone?”

  Pal clearly did not see the humor in the situation. Once again, he stopped eating, this time to stare at Susan. “You and I need to have a long and serious conversation.”

  “He’s exaggerating,” Susan said in her defense.

  “Sorry,” Kendall said facetiously. “They only thought they blew Jake’s brains out.”

  Susan bit her lower lip, suddenly realizing that, as dramatic as Kendall sounded, he had only truly embellished that one point. “You’re right, Kendall. You’ve stood by me through the worst times of my life, and I appreciate that. You understand the risks.” Susan regrouped, trying to express her opinion without confusing the issue. “You’ve just detailed how important it is for a competent doctor to finish his residency, especially so close to the end. Even if you have the inclination to help, you don’t have the time. And Hasbro needs you now more than ever.”

  Kendall laughed, started to talk, then dissolved into laughter again. “Amazing, isn’t it? We have a gift for using our own arguments against ourselves.” He laughed again. “Susan, I’m not suggesting I quit, too. I’m working on the cushiest R-3 rotation we get: private clinic. Forty-hour weeks, no call, no weekends. It’s probably the one that’ll get cut to make up for you leaving, but they’re not going to pull me off it in the middle.”

  Susan realized the more assistance she had, the better. At least, she would not have to bring Kendall up to speed on what had happened so far. “I’m not going to limit myself to nights and weekends.”

  Kendall waved off the concern. “I wouldn’t expect you to. And I doubt your enemies will, either.”

  My enemies. Despite the events of the last two years, the realization still floored Susan. I have enemies.

  “Just keep me in the loop. Let me help where I can.”

  It was a reasonable request. “Fine,” Susan said, the closest thing Kendall would get to a promise.

  Kendall returned his attention to dinner once more. “So, what’s next on the investigation list?”

  Susan had not thought past surviving a dinner with Kendall, Nate, and Pal. She took a mouthful of rice and chow mein, chewing slowly while she considered. An answer came quickly. “We need to examine the scene and talk to Goldman’s lab partner.”

  “Cody Peters,” Kendall said, apparently to demonstrate he was paying attention, thinking ahead.

  “Cody Peters.” Susan took another bite of food. It had grown cold during their conversation, but she still savored the mingled tastes and textures. “I’ll have to call him tonight to set something up. He’s probably taking time off after . . .” She trailed off and then finished lamely, “After what happened. They made a spectacular team and worked together for an awfully long time.”

  Pal inserted, “Do you think it’s possible Peters had something to do with the murder?”

  Susan had never considered the possibility and found it almost impossible to do so now. “I suppose we have to consider everything, but I’d put it in the extraordinarily remote category. Losing his brilliant and well-known partner can only harm his career. While I could envision Ari Goldman slapping Peters in a fit of pique, the opposite is nearly as difficult for me to imagine as Nate being the killer. Goldman was competent, staid, and a bit surly. Peters was scatterbrained, sweet, and almost silly. They made a strangely perfect team.”

  Nate chimed in, startling Susan. He had remained quiet so long, she had nearly forgotten he was with them in the kitchen. “Dr. Peters is not capable of murder, especially of Dr. Goldman.”

  Susan believed him, not only because he was seldom wrong but because she had independently come to the same conclusion. Nate had worked with those two doctors more than anyone else at Hasbro. “But someone was. And, one way or another, we’re going to find out who.”

  Chapter 10

  Exhausted, Susan flopped on the love seat. Kendall had finally left, and she could hear Pal rattling around the kitchen, the intermittent splash of the sink as he rinsed the dishes, the clunk of silverware dumped piecemeal into the drainer’s plastic bin. At length, he stepped around the corner and into the living room to sit on the cushion beside her.

  “Hard day?” Pal asked facetiously, as if he had not just spent most of it with her.

  “Definitely,” Susan replied. “Though not the worst I’ve lived through.”

  “Ditto,” Pal said, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “Mind if I take off my shoes?”

  Already barefoot, Susan felt rude for not suggesting it herself. She had planned to handle the dirty dishes in the morning and had called into the kitchen several times, thanking him for taking the initiative. “Please. Make yourself comfortable.” She wiggled her toes luxuriously; they were long and well-defined with little space between them and a small, deep scar on the right dorsum where she had caught it under a door in high school.

  Pal was removing his athletic shoes and socks as Nate entered the living room. Unlike the humans, he appeared fresh as a newly cut flower. “If you two would like your privacy, feel free to shut me down.”

  “I have a better idea. I’ve been wanting to try something.” Susan rose, and spoke directly and distinctly to him. “You will see and hear nothing and make no movements until I speak your name again.”

  Nate went as still as a statue. His dark eyes pointed forward uncomprehendingly.

  Pal put his sock-filled shoes beside the love seat and stood up to inspect the robot. He walked around Nate, looked at Susan for direction, then took another lap in the opposite direction. “Can you hear me?”

  If he did, Nate gave no sign. He stood perfectly still. Not a human stillness, where faint corrections in equilibrium caused tiny movements or shivers, but rock hard and utterly immobile. His chest wall made no breathing motions, and his eyes remained locked in place.

  Pal stopped directly in front of Nate. “That’s amazing.” He planted both hands on Nate’s chest and shoved.

  Nate moved, though not in the way Susan expected. A human would have planted a foot to prevent a fall. Nate, however, remained in the exact same pose but slid backward several inches as if on casters. Pal gave Nate another push, with the same result. “Well, isn’t that interesting.”

  Susan nodded, considering the possibilities, while Pal spoke them aloud.

  “Maybe that’s how the murderer made it appear as if Nate committed the crime. It’s a lot easier to move three or four hundred pounds like this than carrying it on a stretcher.”

  “Let me try.” Susan purposefully avoided saying “Nate.” Pa
l could do so with impunity, but she had instructed the robot to snap out of his blind, deaf paralysis when she spoke his name. She planted both hands on Nate’s chest and gave him a solid push. He glided across the floor without taking a single step. “Well that explains how they moved him, but not how they turned him off for the move.”

  Pal retook his seat. “Perhaps they did it the same way you did. Instructed him not to see, hear, or move.” He paused. “Or is he only tuned to obey certain people?”

  Susan also sat, though absently. “The Second Law of Robotics states that a robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings. That’s any human being.”

  “Law?” Pal asked. “So robots have their own . . . legal system?”

  “Yes,” Susan said, settling into the love seat. “The only difference is, it’s impossible for them to break their laws. They’re programmed in at the earliest stages of development. Without them, the positronic brain cannot function, and any attempt to disable any portion of them would destroy it.”

  Pal put forth a guess. “The positronic brain being what allows Nate to act so human.”

  Susan explained further. “It’s the unique creation of Dr. Lawrence Robertson that makes all the difference between a USR robot, which can think and feel, learn and emote, and a piece of machinery that performs only a programmed function, which would define every other robot.”

  “Ah.” Pal gave her words a few moments of thought before saying, “The Second Law makes all positronic-brained robots subservient to humans. So, obviously, it’s not just a matter of programming in state or federal statutes.”

  “No,” Susan said. “There are only three Laws of Robotics, and they’re elegant in their simplicity. The First Law states, ‘A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.’”

  A light flashed through Pal’s eyes. “Which explains how you know, without any need to question, Nate did not commit the murder.”