Again, Susan did not address the switch of a positronic father for her biological one. “Or he could have decided the knowledge was too dangerous not to die with him.”
Pal continued without acknowledging Susan’s statement. If true, it wholly negated any debate. He was already working off the premise that a code existed and someone knew it. “By then he knew he had a brilliant daughter with Sherlockian powers of deduction.”
Susan’s face grew warm. “That’s just Kendall’s exaggeration. My ability to deduce things is limited to medical diagnoses, and it’s based on the fact that I had no social life during college and medical school. I attended every class, listened carefully, and studied my notes each night, looking up every tangent that caught my fancy along the way.”
“You may be too modest.” Pal turned Susan a warm smile. “Or everything you said could be true. What matters is what your father believed, and parents nearly always assume the best about their children.”
Susan tried to follow Pal’s tack. “So . . . you’re suggesting . . .” She bit her lip in concentration. “You think my father gave me the code in some sort of . . . code?”
Pal tipped his head to meet her gaze. “Maybe? In a story he told you. A place he talked about visiting. A favorite movie.”
Susan sighed and snuggled deeper, avoiding some significant details. The SFH had murdered her father a second time, never realizing what he was, but Cadmium had torn their apartment to shreds, seeking hidden writings, recordings, and video. They had even stolen John Calvin’s robotic head in the hope of uncovering information, apparently without success. In fact, Susan’s father had posthumously led her on a wild-goose chase that had ultimately revealed the final words she had already described: He loved her, and no code had ever existed. “Why should it be an issue?” Susan murmured to Pal. “Why would I be foolish enough to seek out information I don’t ever want used? My father definitively said no code exists, and I want to believe him. I do believe him. That’s all that matters.”
“Is it?”
“Isn’t it?”
“Only if you can convince the SFH and the DoD, and that’s clearly a problem.”
Susan could scarcely deny it. “I think the DoD has come to grips with the truth, at least. It’s only the SFH that’s coming after me now.”
“The group that only . . . wants to kill you. That’s willing to blast or shoot you from anywhere, anytime.”
Susan had no way to counter that point. “Jake thinks the DoD has targeted the SFH, and they do seem to be getting weaker. It took them a whole year to regroup enough to come after me again.”
“And murder Dr. Goldman. Susan, how long before the SFH realizes they can get to you by killing off your coworkers, mentors, and friends one by one?”
Susan’s head drooped. “What are you suggesting?”
“What if you found the code? Then, we could easily create a mechanism whereby, if you or one of your friends dies under suspicious circumstances, the code is broadcast to the entire world. Isn’t that exactly what the SFH doesn’t want?”
The idea had its merits but also an enormous flaw. Susan’s nostrils flared. “But that’s exactly what I’m trying to avoid. If I don’t want our own government to have it, why would I want the world to know it, including foreign enemies?”
“You don’t have to actually release the information. Presumably the threat of it would be enough. Or you could share the information with a large enough group of trusted or high-profile people that the SFH wouldn’t dare kill all of you and wouldn’t gain anything by killing only a few.”
Susan forced herself to sit up on the edge of the love seat so she could look Pal directly in the eyes and read his expressions. His pale eyes seemed to sparkle with excitement, his face open and interested in the conversation. “Oh my God! This is an adventure to you. A real-life National Treasure or Sherlock mystery.” She chose media franchises that had been serialized and rewritten dozens of times.
Pal pursed his lips and looked at the ceiling, the corners of his mouth bowing slightly upward. She had clearly read him perfectly, and he knew better than to deny the truth. “Okay, I’m an adrenaline junkie. I figured the bike, MARSOC, and my willingness to become a bodyguard without much information already gave that away.”
Susan could not deny it. She had always considered herself a relatively boring person, stimulated more by mental activity, her physical activity limited to bland, safe forms of exercise. She had imagined herself married to an accountant or a computer programmer, a man slow in action but quick in wit who could keep pace with her on an intellectual level. Luckily for her, she seemed to attract men of action, perhaps only because she found herself constantly in danger. She spoke some of her thoughts aloud. “You know, I always imagined myself with intelligent men who shunned danger.”
Pal looked intently into Susan’s eyes. “You seem to have a knack for calling me stupid.”
Susan huffed out an irritable breath. “You’re reading into what I said. I didn’t mean that at all.” Except, if she was honest with herself, she did mean it a little. Lodged into the core of her beliefs was the understanding that smart people knew better than to deliberately put themselves in perilous situations. She added, more fairly, “Recently, I have a knack for finding smart men who also have a fondness for risk taking or, at least, have the ability to act quickly in the face of danger.” She considered a moment. “Thank goodness. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.”
Pal grinned. As attractive as Susan found his eyes, she found them doubly so now with the shadow of his smile echoed in them. “If it makes you feel any better, I quit MARSOC with the idea of finding an intelligent wife and raising a few kids. You’ve told me the most intimate parts of your life, so it’s my turn to share. My mother was a mathematical genius. My father cheated on her exactly one time. She figured it out almost the instant he walked through the door, and she immediately kicked him to the curb. It took him six years, including intensive therapy at her direction, hundreds of apologies and promises for her to take him back. He considered it the stupidest thing he had ever done, and he never repeated the mistake.”
Susan waited for him to make a point.
“My mother wasn’t beautiful. She was quite plain, really, but men fawned over her. To an accomplished man, intelligence and self-confidence are more of a turn-on than a pretty face. Stupid women expect their men to cheat or believe all men cheat or cheat themselves. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy. Real beauty comes from the understanding that you’re worth better, and my father nearly paid the ultimate price for realizing it too late. It’s a mistake I refuse to make. So, I got my carousing out of the way early. I’ve been with enough women to know exactly what I want, what I need, and what’s best for me.” He continued, almost subvocally, “And I see all of that in you.”
Susan froze, uncertain what to think, what to say. “Is this some sort of . . . weird . . . proposal?”
“What? No!” Pal’s face turned nearly scarlet. “It’s just my way of explaining my actions and helping you understand who I really am, where I’m coming from. I’m a man of action, Susan. I make decisions quickly; my life used to depend on it. The fact that I’m still alive proves I don’t make many mistakes. I want to know you a lot better, and I think you feel the same way about me.”
Before Susan could think of a suitable response, she found his lips against hers, his tongue deep in her mouth, and she liked the feel, the taste, the excitement of it. His arms folded around her, hers around him, their chests pressed tightly together. A comfortable warmth suffused Susan, accompanied by a burning desire she had felt only once before, the time Remington had kissed her on the park bench below her father’s tenth-story apartment. She knew she wanted this man, but, more important, he wanted her. And for the moment nothing else mattered.
Chapter 11
Careful not to wake Pal, Susan Calvin hefted herself onto one elbow to study him i
n the scant illumination of her bedroom. A line of moonlight through the mini blinds struck glimmers of scarlet and indigo through his tousled hair. Eyes closed, breaths deep and rhythmical, he looked childlike and vulnerable, a strange contrast to the Harley-riding ex-Marine who had shot three armed strangers in Central Park. She had always found him attractive but never more so than at this moment.
The previous night, Pal had alternated gentleness with an almost brutal passion to invoke pleasure and desire like nothing Susan had experienced or imagined. In its wake, the memory of her session with Kendall seemed watery and dull, something altogether worthless and forgettable. She did not blame her fellow resident for the lapse; he was an inexperienced lover who had not yet recognized his homosexuality. Without that session of insubstantial lovemaking, he might still be deep in denial, and it had also allowed Susan to realize the difference between a bland lover and one who could take her to the summit of excitement.
At times, Susan had secretly worried that she lacked any carnal drive. Throughout her life, men her own age had paid her little attention, and she had convinced herself it did not bother her, had thrown herself into her studies, honing her intellect to its peak. It had taken Pal to demonstrate that she was, in fact, a sexual creature with normal yearnings, even though she had buried them for so many years. She appreciated this man of action who had come into her life at its lowest ebb, who had made her feel like a desirable woman for only the second time in her life.
The urge to touch Pal, to stroke back the hair that had slipped across his brow, to reawaken him as a man, seized Susan. Without something solid and real to assure her of his presence, he might disappear, a figment of her desperate imagination, a dream, a ghost of beauty and passion she did not deserve. Worried to awaken him, she kept her hands to herself but listened intently until she heard the regular hiss of his breathing, then leaned in to catch the mingled aromas that had come to define him. Bare-chested and partially wrapped in her blanket, he no longer bore the scent of his laundry detergent. Unwashed scalp had taken the place of shampoo, and his deodorant had worn off hours ago. Now he smelled like an amalgam of Pal and Susan and sex, a heady aroma that made her burn with the urge to do it all again. It took strength of will not to envelop him, to draw him into another session of enthusiastic lovemaking.
Instead, Susan glanced at her Vox. It was 7:04 a.m. A winking dot over the hour informed her she had waiting messages. Susan looked back at Pal, as much to reassure herself he was still present as anything else. He continued to sleep beneath her stare. She glanced at his Vox, noting the time was the same and that he also had messages.
Other women? Susan wondered why that thought popped into her head. She had watched Pal text many times the previous day and never once thought about the possibility that the receivers of those messages might be female. I’m jealous? She shook her head at the absurdity of the realization, knowing everything had changed overnight. Pal was hers, and she was his; and, suddenly, she wanted to know every detail of him: his past, his thoughts, his needs and desires, his life itself.
Pal’s eyes fluttered open, as always shockingly blue. He smiled at Susan. “You’re up.”
Susan returned the smile. “I have messages.” She tipped her head toward his wrist. “Apparently, you do, too.”
Pal shook his arm free of the blanket to glance at his Vox. “Ah! So I do.” He reached for Susan, and she allowed him to gather her into his arms. His warmth seemed to suffuse her, growing into a bonfire. She wanted him again, and she could feel he wanted her, too. She found a tiny and unexpected additional thrill in the realization that he found her more appealing than the senders of those messages.
That thought reminded Susan that her own messages had to take priority. She had a job for which U.S. Robots was paying her and whose significance could not be exaggerated.
“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” Pal said.
Susan broke free of his grip. She could not afford to be any more distracted. “I showed you everything last night, and I really need to check my messages.”
“I was talking about the messages.”
Susan paused, then chuckled. “Of course you were.” She tapped her Vox and read. “First one’s from U.S. Robots. They want me to come in sometime this morning at my convenience.”
Dutifully, Pal tapped his Vox. “Mine’s from my mom. She wants to know where I was last—damn it! In all the excitement, I completely forgot we were supposed to do lunch.”
“Well, don’t tell her you were with me.” Susan suffered a familiar melancholia, though she had long ago come to grips with the loss of her own mother. “I want her to like me.” Even as she spoke the words, Susan wished she could take them back. She hoped she did not sound too eager.
Pal’s tone did not suggest it bothered him or that he found the comment premature. “I’m sure she will. You’re both brilliant, and you both love me.”
That took Susan aback. “That’s a bit presumptuous.”
“Sorry,” Pal said waggishly, “but I’m pretty sure my mother loves me.”
“Ha, ha, ha.”
Pal added, “And I know I . . . love you.”
A grin filled Susan’s face before she could stop it. Joy suffused her, almost to the point of giddiness. It was too late to cover her expression; she had to admit it. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that. I didn’t think anyone could feel so strongly about someone this quickly.”
Pal shrugged. “There are plenty of people who fall in love at first sight. Comparatively, we’re turtles.”
“I’d heard that, but I never really believed it.” Susan shook her head. “We must be insane. Both of us.”
“You should know,” Pal pointed out. “But seriously, Susan, let’s look at the big picture. You have a knack for reading people’s minds and hearts quickly; until recently, it was your job. I’ve had to take the measure of a human in seconds and decide whether to trust them, ditch them, or kill them. Is it any wonder we would recognize our soul mates quickly?” He added in further justification, “Besides, I think we packed six months’ worth of dating into a twenty-four-hour period.”
Susan had to admit she had never spent so much time without a break with a person who was not her parent. So much had happened in that span, so many things had changed.
Pal added quickly, “Not that I think we should be sprinting to any altars. We fell in love at the speed of light, and I suppose it’s possible to fall out of love just as quickly. I can’t speak for you, but I’d like to bask in these feelings as fully and as long as possible. If we’re still alive and in love a year from now . . .” He shrugged. “Maybe?”
“Maybe,” Susan said agreeably, torn between her usually jaded self and the hopeless romantic she had not known resided inside her. Clearly, she had located her own deeply buried weakness, and she also intended to enjoy it as long as possible. That turned her thoughts to Remington, instantly wiping the smile from her face. “Assuming we both survive this.”
Pal took her hand in both of his. “Susan, I promise you I’ll take care of you. I’m trained for this. I know what I’m doing.”
Susan lowered her head. “I know. But people who protect me seem to wind up dead, Pal. My mother, my first love, my father. Jake, almost.”
Pal released her, using his newly freed hands to lift her face to his. “You know I can’t guarantee not to die any more than you can promise to cure a patient. I can only point out that I haven’t died yet, and I’ve been in more dangerous situations than this one.” He added in a voice that bordered on frightening, “And learned from them.” He reclaimed his hands. “Now, tell me about this ‘first love’ of yours.”
Susan was not sure what to say. Does he want to know if he measures up or if I’ll constantly compare him with a ghost? It was not an enviable position. Susan knew people who had lost a loved one tended to idealize their memories. All flaws were forgot
ten or whitewashed into quirky qualities. A dead loved one can never disappoint or irritate the way a live one inevitably will. She did not like talking about Remington or the emotions doing so sparked, so she kept her description as brief as possible, focusing on exactly what Pal needed to know. “His name was Remington, Remy for short. He was a neurosurgery resident at Hasbro. We only went on a couple of dates, and I had only just planned to lose my virginity to him when he died shielding me from an explosion.”
Pal had clearly been listening, “From one of the bombs supplied by the SFH for the nanorobot experiment patients.”
Susan nodded.
A brief silence followed, interrupted by Pal’s careful question. “So you never . . .” He darted a glance at Susan, but, when she obviously did not know how to finish the sentence, he did so. “Consummated your relationship.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“So were you . . .” Pal waved his arm around the rumpled bed. “You were still . . .” This time, Susan knew exactly what he meant but chose not to complete the thought. Neither did Pal. “Why did you wait so long?”
Susan gave the only answer she could. “I was waiting for the right man.”
“Remy.”
Susan could not deny it, even to salvage Pal’s feelings. “Yes. Definitely, yes.”
Pal lowered his head, looking pained.
Susan waited for him to explain.
“If I had known you were a virgin, I wouldn’t have . . . I mean, not so soon . . .”
Susan rescued him. “Believe me, I wouldn’t let you do anything I didn’t want you to do.” She never doubted that, if she had told him to stop, he would have obeyed in an instant. His strength and combat training would not have saved him if he had not. Susan realized she needed to address the assumptive part of his comment as well; she owed him the full truth. “Besides, I wasn’t exactly a virgin anymore. After Remy’s death and my father’s murder, Kendall and I gave it a try.”
Isaac Asimov's I, Robot: To Preserve Page 19