Isaac Asimov's I, Robot: To Preserve
Page 26
“Wouldn’t destroy or seriously damage it. I didn’t say it wouldn’t hurt. Radiation effects aren’t all-or-nothing.”
Aiden had to agree. “With humans, a dose of one thousand to two thousand increases the risk of various cancers and might cause hair loss, nausea, and, possibly, hemorrhaging in some. But robots don’t experience any of that, do they?”
“No,” Alfred admitted. “The bodily effects wouldn’t be an issue, but a sudden pulse might cause some problems. Soften some circuits, damage some memory . . .”
Susan could not help inserting, “Turn him off for some period of time.”
Alfred jerked his head to Susan as if he had forgotten the others were there. “Um, yes. Of course. That’s a definite possibility.”
Though Aiden was clearly enjoying the conversation, Susan and, apparently, Cody knew he needed to get back to work. “Thanks,” Dr. Peters said. “Very much appreciate the information and the speed at which you attained it. What happens next?”
“I’ll have to report it, of course. We’ll have people up there looking for the source and making sure it’s not an ongoing leak or likely to happen again. We’ll check the dosimeters of everyone who may have come in contact. Once we have all of that information, we’ll make recommendations.”
“Thanks,” Cody said.
But Aiden had not finished. “In the meantime, we need to quarantine the area. Leave the coat that had the dosimeter where it was and don’t touch it any more than you already have. It appears to have been a single pulse, which means you’re probably safe. However, if we find something that suggests additional exposure, we may need to have you checked over.”
“Understood,” Cody said. “Thanks.” He broke off the contact and looked at the others. “Well, I hope I didn’t expose the police and all of you to anything dangerous.”
Susan doubted it. “The dosimeter sat here three days and recorded only that single pulse, which was well below the dangerous level. I think we’re all fine.”
Jake glanced at his Vox. “Damn! It’s five already. We’re going to have to hurry to make it to Alphonse’s.” He pursed his lips, then continued. “Alfred, I hate to impose on someone I respect and barely know, but would you be able to drop Pal off on your way home?”
Before Alfred could reply, Pal obviated the need. “I’ll grab the glide-bus to my bike and ride that to my mom’s. She’s looking forward to feeding me a home-cooked meal.”
Nate cut in next, “I’ve had enough excitement for one day. Would you mind if I accepted that ride, Dr. Lanning? I wouldn’t mind a quiet tour of a robotics factory, or you could drop me off at Susan’s.”
Placing Nate with Alfred seemed like a great idea to Susan, at least for tonight. Susan doubted anyone would obtain a warrant to search U.S. Robots, or her apartment, on Jake’s day off.
To her surprise, Jake was the one who argued. “Layton, don’t you want to come with us to the restaurant? I said it’s my treat, and Alphonse’s has a great selection of seafood.”
“No thanks.” Nate headed toward the door. “I’ll just grab something at home.”
Some of the blood left Jake’s face. “Do you really think that’s a good idea, Layton? The last time you ate something from Susan’s fridge, she poisoned you.”
“Hey!” Susan remembered Nate’s act, and that it involved takeout, but she still took offense. “I have good food.”
Jake clearly referenced their first meal together. “Sure, if you don’t mind eating chicken, banana, and broccoli casserole.”
Alfred finally cut in. “We’ll pick up something bland on the way to U.S. Robots. Nick can give Susan’s cousin a tour while I handle some business I didn’t finish because I had to come here.”
“Sorry.” Susan considered offering Nate money, but she did not have any to spare and knew he did not really need it, even to eat. If she had offered, Alfred would not have accepted, anyway. “And thanks for taking Layton. He reads a ton of science fiction; he’ll love USR. I’ll call you when I’m headed home, and we can make arrangements to get Layton back to my apartment.”
Susan looked at Pal, who was tapping at his Vox, clearly making his own arrangements, then at Cody Peters. “Do you want to take Layton’s place at Alphonse’s, Dr. Peters?”
“I can’t. I have to get back to the Goldmans’ for the funeral supper.” A pained expression crossed Cody’s face. “I’ve been ignoring Cait’s texts for the better part of an hour, and I’m going to hear about it.”
They all headed for the hallway, Cody pausing to lock the door behind them. As they walked to the elevator, Susan asked Jake, “Do you need to change that reservation from three people to two?”
“Actually,” Jake replied, “from four to three. Kendall’s meeting us there. He wants to know what we found in the lab.”
Susan could not help smiling. It felt like old times, the three of them chatting about the case over dinner together. “And don’t we have a lot to tell him.”
Jake could only nod in agreement.
• • •
Jake and Susan joined Kendall at a back corner table in the dimly lit restaurant, its blue-gray walls holding dynamic pictures of boats in storms and fishermen battling enormous varieties of sea life: tuna, sharks, marlin, and even a giant squid. Rods as wide as her wrist bowed like rubber, the ships appeared to rock dangerously in gutters of white water, and the fish flung droplets so realistic they seemed to fly from the canvas.
Susan tapped her dinner selections into the table keypad, mindful of Jake’s budget. She chose a grilled halibut with peach and pepper glaze, pearled barley, and ginger-buttered broccoli. She selected plain water with a twist of lime for her drink.
Kendall waited until everyone had finished ordering before leaning across the table. “So, did you solve the crime?”
“Pretty much,” Susan said, glancing at Jake for confirmation. The policeman sat with arms folded across his chest, saying nothing, so she proceeded to describe her version of how the murder was committed, careful not to embellish anything uncertain. For example, she stated her belief that the killers came through the window but not how they did so.
Kendall listened raptly while Susan detailed her scenario; neither he nor Jake interrupted. When she finished, Kendall also looked at Jake for corroboration.
With two sets of eyes on him, and his companions gone silent, Jake finally spoke. “I believe Susan’s description of the crime is probably mostly correct.” His tone did not convey the optimism of his words.
Kendall tried to guess what bothered Jake. “But . . . it’s going to be . . . what? Hard to prove?”
Jake nodded glumly.
Susan jumped in. “But the radiation pulse—”
“Isn’t the slam dunk you think it is. You can prove a pulse of gamma radiation struck the storage room around the time of the murder, but a competent prosecutor will explain it away as an unrelated occurrence. Or, worse, that the pulse was the reason the robot went crazy and murdered the victim, perhaps even that Lawrence caused the pulse because he knew it would drive Nate to a murderous frenzy.”
Joy had not visited Susan in a long time, and she did not want to let it go. Jake’s negativity was driving her mad. “But we have the truth on our side, Jake, and that’s a huge advantage.”
Kendall seemed to be taking Jake’s side. “The truth is great, but it’s not a guarantee. Mistakes happen all the time, and lawyers . . . well, what’s the difference between a lawyer and a jellyfish?”
Susan rolled her eyes. Now was not the time for jokes. “All right, Kendall. Get it out of your system.”
Kendall obliged. “One’s a spineless, poisonous blob, and the other’s a sea creature.”
No one laughed. Finally, Susan and Jake agreed on something; neither wanted to deal with Kendall’s weird sense of humor. “How many lawyer jokes are there,” Jake asked flatly.
Susan ignored Kendall to confront Jake directly. “So what do I have to do to win this thing?”
“Reasonable doubt,” Jake reminded. “You probably have enough for that already, but you’ve said it’s not good enough for you. You want to fully exonerate Lawrence and Nate, and that requires us to find the real perps and prove the case against them. Cases that end with acquittal only rescue the accused from punishment. They don’t dispel public doubt unless and until someone else is convicted.”
Susan could scarcely deny it. Seventy years after O.J. Simpson was acquitted of murdering his ex-wife, she doubted anyone still believed he was innocent. The enormity of the prospect surged around her, but need and persistence arose to combat it. She was accustomed to dealing with exquisitely complicated situations, one step at a time. “All right, I’m game. What do I have to do?”
Before Jake could respond, a server arrived. He set an enormous silver tray onto a small stand away from the table, then put a plate in front of each of them. Kendall had gone with lemon-pepper shrimp scampi and a side of asparagus, while Jake got almond-crusted salmon, brown rice, and spinach. Both men had ordered fruit fizzies, Jake’s peach and Kendall’s strawberry. The server left several condiments in the center of the table, then asked, “Is there anything more I can bring you?”
Everyone responded, “No, thank you.”
Jake waited until the server had left before addressing Susan’s question. “We’re limited in what we can do, Susan. Our best advantage is that I’m friends with some of the guys at the Nineteenth Precinct and we’re working on related cases. I can make suggestions, but I can’t direct their investigation.”
The answer did little more than frustrate Susan. “And they’re convinced Nate did it.”
Jake squeezed lemon over his fish, then shrugged. “A reasonable assumption. They literally caught him red-handed.”
Susan sat back, her food untouched. “I hope you’re not trying to say it’s hopeless.” She spoke in a flat, almost threatening, tone. “Because I’m not going to give up, with or without your assistance.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. “Of course, I’m not saying it’s hopeless. I’m just letting you know what we’re up against. Too many people bounce into court thinking they have an airtight case and forgetting the other side is just as determined to win.”
“Got it,” Susan said through gritted teeth. She emphasized her original question, “Now what do we have to do?”
Kendall smiled around a mouthful of scampi. “Finally! She said ‘we’ instead of ‘I.’”
Jake grinned in Kendall’s direction. “I noticed that, too.” He turned his attention back to Susan. “First, we need to start looking at this case through the eyes of the jury. Whenever the subject arises, you inevitably jump straight to the fact that Nate couldn’t have done it, that the Laws of Robotics prevent it.”
“Well they do,” Susan said in her defense.
“You know that. I know that. Even Kendall has an inkling it’s probably the truth.”
“Hey!” Kendall lowered his fork. “If Susan’s says it’s true, it’s true.”
“But the jury’s supposed to begin the trial with completely open minds.”
Susan knew that would never happen. “Except they won’t. Because everyone has biases, and Hollywood has not treated robots and other man-made beings with kindness.”
“Other man-made beings,” Kendall repeated thoughtfully, then nodded. “In this case, you mean Frankenstein’s monster.”
Susan did. They were all familiar with the Frankenstein Complex by now, so she did not repeat it. “Well, they didn’t call him Frankenstein’s little angel.”
Jake waved away Susan’s legitimate concern. “There’s nothing we can do about people’s hidden biases. So, pretend you’re a regular person, a member of the jury, not Susan Calvin. What’s the glaring oddity about this murder?”
Susan took a mouthful of halibut, savored the peach and pepper, then swallowed. “The robot.”
“Yes, the robot,” Jake said dismissively as he tasted his own dinner. “There’s something nearly as out of place. Something you don’t expect to see in a hospital, at least I didn’t expect it.”
Susan figured it out. “The Stanley 55-099 FatMax Xtreme FuBar Utility Bar.”
Both men dropped their forks and stared at Susan.
“What?”
“How did you do that?” Jake said.
“Do what?” Susan still did not understand.
Kendall retrieved his fork. “Jake has never seen you rattle off a list of eight-syllable differential diagnoses from memory before.” He addressed the policeman. “She has a photographic memory.”
Susan had to correct the misconception. “I do not have an eidetic memory, just a decent one. When I pay attention, which I always did in medical school classes. Plus, people without social lives have a lot of free time to study.”
Jake took up his own fork again, cutting off a piece of salmon that consisted mostly of almonds. “To study . . . obscure tools?”
Susan rolled her eyes. “To study eight-syllable diagnoses, their differentials, and the tests needed to rule out or support them. I remembered the name of the tool because I heard Nate say it”—she barely stopped herself from saying “several times”—“at the police station. I saw the thing at the scene, and I thought it was some sort of hammer, so it surprised me when he said Stanley 55-099 FatMax Xtreme FuBar Utility Bar. That seemed weird and important, so it stuck with me.”
Kendall returned to his food while Jake continued to address Susan. “Important, yet not important enough to consider a clue?”
Susan fixed her attention on Jake, encouraging him to explain.
“Where did Nate get this utility bar?”
Susan knew Jake had the answer to his own question. “From the murderers, of course. They stuck it in his hands.” She added, “They could just as easily have used a crowbar or a hammer.”
“Think like a jury member.” Jake scooped up some rice. “Where would a robot get one of those things?”
The line of questioning seemed superfluous. “Where would he get anything? A toolbox, I suppose.”
“Did he bring a toolbox into the lab?”
Susan hesitated, starting to get a handle on Jake’s point. “I can’t imagine he did.” She considered further. “We could probably find witnesses who would swear he didn’t. Whoever keeps track of his schedule at the hospital could confirm that he did not have one when he left for the lab.” She made a mental note to do so.
Jake ate a few more scoops of rice before continuing. Susan and Kendall followed suit on their own meals. “The murder weapon is eighteen inches long. It would be almost impossible to carry one without someone noticing. Even if Nate taped it to his leg hidden beneath his clothing, it would severely impede his ability to bend his knees, to walk.”
“Yeah,” Kendall said thoughtfully.
Susan did the math. “As tall as he is, he might have a twenty-inch-long femur, but that would include the joints.” She imagined the tool. “The utility bar’s oddly shaped at both ends, too. It might fit under extremely loose-fitting pants, but they would bulge weirdly.”
“At the time of the arrest, Nate wasn’t wearing loose-fitting pants, was he?”
Susan brought the scene back to her mind’s eye. Pal had disposed of Nate’s khakis and bloodstained polo. “No. Definitely not.” She lifted her head. “And the police could corroborate that.”
Jake chewed thoughtfully. “So, the only place it could have come from is the toolbox in the storage closet inside the laboratory itself.”
Susan had never seen the researchers use even a standard tool, let alone a wrecking bar. “Is there one?”
Jake nod
ded. “I saw it there when we visited. It’s a cloth one with a zipper on a lower shelf. The question is did it have a Stanley Whatever Utility Bar in it?”
Kendall responded, “Surely, Cody would know that.”
“I could ask him.” Susan reached for her Vox.
Jake caught her hand. “Don’t bother. The police already did, and Cody claimed it didn’t.” He tipped his head. “See, they’re not just sitting on their hands, blaming everything on Nate.”
Susan found Jake’s second point even more reassuring than the first. “So the murder weapon came from outside the hospital. Which means Nate couldn’t have done it.”
“Unless he sneaked out of the hospital and bought it.”
Susan glared at Kendall. “You know he didn’t.”
Jake remained annoyingly open-minded. “You know he didn’t. You’ll have to prove that to the jury.”
Susan rattled off her reasons, which went far beyond wishful thinking. “Nate’s kept in a storage area. To leave it, he has to be checked out; and he’s expressly forbidden to exit the hospital without an escort from USR. Even if he somehow managed to sneak out, he has no money and no credit of any kind.”
Jake ate slowly while he listened to Susan. “Good. Those details will help, especially if we bring in some high-level hospital muckety-mucks to testify about his whereabouts in the weeks before the murder.”
Jake tapped at his Vox, then indicated Susan and Kendall should consult their own. When she did so, Susan found a close-up image of smudged letters scrawled onto dirty metal in ancient black marker.
Susan chewed thoughtfully. “What’s this?”
Jake gave her an intent look. “Found on the murder weapon.”
Susan raised her arm nearly to her eyeballs. She could definitely make out the letters in the enlarged image: SFH. Her heart skipped a beat. “It says SFH!”
Kendall continued eating, a slight smile on his face. Obviously, Jake had already shown him the evidence.
Susan turned Jake an accusing look. “So we know who the murderers are.” She amended, “Or, at least, who they work for. Why haven’t the charges been dropped against Lawrence? Why haven’t all the members of the SFH been hauled in?”