“What?”
Susan managed to resist the urge to claim she pulled the brilliant diagnosis from her butt. “Duh. He told me.”
“So, what does this gorgeous, allegedly gay hero look like?”
Susan could scarcely believe that was the question Kendall chose to ask first. Did you miss the part where I mentioned my life was in danger? “Why? You want to sleep with him?”
Kendall shoved his chair violently aside. “Are you implying I’m gay, too?”
All composure lost, Susan also stood, turning away. “Maybe.”
“Maybe? Maybe! What the hell—!” For an instant, Kendall looked as if he might actually strike her; then he also turned away.
“You have to admit, our…night together…wasn’t exactly…” Susan trailed off. She had not intended to talk about her disappointment. Ever.
“It was the first time for you, and I’d only tried it once before. What did you expect? Fireworks?”
The irony struck Susan. It had happened Independence Day night. There had been real fireworks in the background, ones she had scarcely noticed since she had experienced no metaphysical ones. She finally managed to keep her mouth sealed tightly shut.
“Fine.” Kendall lunged forward and caught Susan’s arm. “You want fireworks? I’ll give you fireworks.” He started toward the bedroom.
Susan was not in the mood. “Now? Are you crazy?”
Kendall’s deep brown eyes bored into her own. “So you’re not even going to give me a chance?”
“It’s not that. It’s just…we’re in the middle of a fight,” she reminded him, anger already diminishing.
“I’ve heard makeup sex is the best kind.” Kendall tugged on Susan’s arm.
Susan was not in the mood for anything, but she was already starting to regret much of what she had said. Her inconsiderate comments had brought them to this point in the first place. “Fine. Let’s make some fireworks.” She followed him into the bedroom. It occurred to her she had never heard Kendall talk about a previous relationship, specific desire, or crush on a male or a female. His jokes contained a lot of innuendo but never quite crossed the line. She had never known another twenty-seven-year-old male with so little romantic experience. Is it possible he really is gay? Susan all but dismissed the possibility. If so, he’s deep in denial.
As they took a seat on the side of Kendall’s neatly made bed, he took her hands in his and gazed into her eyes. “Susan, I’m sorry about the fight. We’re both under a lot of pressure, and it’s understandable we lash out at the person to whom we’re closest in the world.”
Susan suddenly realized that in the thick of things, Kendall had claimed to love her and she had not acknowledged, let alone returned, the sentiment. “I’m sorry, too, Kendall. And I do love you.”
“I know.” Kendall clasped her hands between his own. “Susan, I don’t want to lose our friendship. I’ve never had a serious relationship with a woman, and I didn’t realize I could feel such jealousy. I apologize for assuming you slept with this cop. And I want you to know that if I can’t satisfy you, we’ll always remain friends.”
“Deal,” Susan said, “and it works both ways.”
They fell into bed together.
Chapter 18
Kendall was still apologizing when he left for Winter Wine Dementia Facility the following morning, and Susan was still mouthing placating reassurances. That it happened to most men was a medical fact, but of little consolation. They both knew frustrated men in their twenties rarely suffered such problems, even under the pressure of a recent argument and too much work.
Alone again, Susan realized she had never described her day to Kendall, that he was still ignorant of why she had disappeared and the reason she had needed rescuing. But the remembrance was all too clear to Susan, who doubted the two men who had threatened her worked alone. Whether the SFH or something else, they had an organization backing them, one Susan did not wish to encounter again. She was not the only one who had an interest in bringing them down, and she certainly did not have the strategic or physical ability to do so without a lot of assistance.
Susan picked her Vox off the night table and turned it on, preparing to call Lawrence Robertson, when a call buzzed into her hand. It was Jake Carson. This time, she answered it. “Hello?”
“Susan.” The detective sounded relieved to hear her voice. “Do you have…company?”
Susan smiled wanly, not liking her odds if a policeman was worrying she might have gotten kidnapped twice in less than three days. “I’m alone and safe.” For the moment, at least.
“Good.” He seemed to mean it. “Can we meet up somewhere? We need to talk.” He stressed the word “need,” and Susan believed it.
Remembering how much more information she had gotten from Lawrence in person than over the phone, she made an abrupt decision. “Meet me in front of U.S. Robots in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be there,” Jake promised.
They gathered in Lawrence Robertson’s office: Susan, Lawrence, Jake, and Alfred Lanning, the director of research and development at U.S. Robots, who had been a part of the organization nearly as long as Lawrence and Calvin. Longer, Susan realized, since her flesh-and-blood father had survived only a few years after its inception.
The last half hour had mostly consisted of awkward silences broken only by halfhearted verbal thrusts clearly intended to establish the appropriate level of trust. Susan did not want to press them, but it soon became clear they had reached a stalemate that might go on for days if she did not intervene. “Look, we can sit here all day, staring at one another, or we can pool our information and accomplish something worthwhile.”
The three men nodded, but no one made the first move.
Finding the ball back in her court, Susan addressed Jake. “What have you found out about the two men who attacked me?”
Lawrence straightened in his chair, having not yet heard the story. Alfred Lanning, however, remained slumped. He always appeared rumpled to Susan, but she understood his plain appearance and social ineptness disguised a gifted mind.
“You were attacked?” Lawrence said with fatherly concern. “By the SFH?”
“I’m not sure,” Susan said, her attention still trained on Jake. “They claimed to be FBI and demanded a code that’s supposed to unleash the positronic brain from the Three Laws of Robotics.”
That started things moving. Alfred mumbled, “That sounds like the SFH.”
“Not really,” Lawrence inserted. “The SFH seems more hell-bent on seeing that particular information”—he added, apparently for Jake’s benefit—“assuming it even exists, permanently destroyed. Along with anyone who knows it.”
Finally, Jake spoke. “They weren’t from the SFH. Or the FBI, for that matter.”
All eyes went to the detective.
Jake appeared to wither under their scrutiny. “I’m afraid that’s all I can say.”
Susan exaggerated a deep and loud sigh. “Why?” she demanded.
Jake seemed to fold in on himself. The silence intensified, painful for its absoluteness.
Lawrence gave Susan a look that said something similar to Alfred’s words: “This is a waste of time and energy. What’d you bring him here for, anyway?”
Jake rubbed his eyes with his fingertips. “Susan, you’ve known these men a long time?”
“My entire life,” Susan said, which was essentially true. She had met them in person only the previous year, but she had heard about them, their genius, their morality, their judiciousness, for as long as she could remember. Her father had held them in the highest esteem, and they had done nothing to tarnish that praise. “I’d put my life in their hands.” Only after she spoke did it occur to Susan they had also programmed the mechanical man who sang their praises.
Jake looked the scientists over again. “Well, right now, it’s my life you’re putting in their hands. I’ve known you all of two, three days, and them not at all. Can you understand my reluctance?”
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br /> Susan gave the detective’s words due consideration. “I can. But if you don’t explain how you’re endangering your life, it’s difficult to help you.”
Jake continued to study the others, as if to read every inch of them, inside and out. “I’ll tell you this much: Those men were not FBI, but they were federal agents. Needless to say, I’m not in good standing with some dangerous people right now, ones who would have no qualms about whacking me if I don’t play ball by their rules.” He sat up and looked at Lawrence. “Your turn.”
Lawrence flicked his gaze to Susan, who nodded encouragingly. “If federal agents are seeking…what Susan mentioned, there’s only one logical explanation.”
Alfred butted in, “Our own government is looking for a way to weaponize positronic robots?”
Lawrence cringed. Clearly, he did not intend to release so much information so quickly.
Jake reentered the conversation. “So, the positronic brain is a robotic energy source?”
“No.” Lawrence explained, “Think of the positronic brain as a central computer for a USR robot, which provides it with a humanoid consciousness. It requires an energy source to maintain function, but it is not itself a direct source of energy. Unless, of course, you consider learning and original thought a form of energy.”
“And the Three Laws?”
Though she knew them by rote, Susan let Lawrence unveil them. “Law Number One: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm. Law Number Two: A robot must obey orders given it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. And Law Number Three: A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.”
Alfred bobbed his head. He could also recite every syllable of them in his sleep.
Jake nodded in rhythm with Alfred Lanning. “So, the First Law, by definition, excludes the possibility of using them as weapons.”
“Right.” Lawrence said nothing more, allowing Jake to draw the obvious conclusion.
“So uncoupling the brain and the Laws…” Jake trailed off, but no one bothered to finish the sentence for him. “Is it really all that difficult a thing?”
Lawrence leaned toward Jake. If not for his benign expression, the gesture might have seemed threatening. “Young man, I created and refined the positronic brain, and I assure you it’s impossible. The construction is such that without the Three Laws in place at its core, the positronic brain cannot work in any capacity. Susan’s parents fashioned the wording, while Alfred, Calvin, and I assembled all the higher operations, all the neural simulations, all the artificial sentience immutably around those Laws. To construct a positronic brain without the Three Laws in place would break all mathematical and physical laws. Any attempt to induce dormancy or separate them would negate the brain’s ability to function.”
Another silence ensued before Jake finally said, “If no way to uncouple them exists, why is a DoD Intelligence Exploitation Agency so keen to shake Susan down for the code?”
“DoD?” Alfred repeated, then his brows shot up. “Department of Defense, right?” He did not wait for an answer, slamming a fist into his palm. “I knew it.”
Jake’s words did confirm Alfred’s weaponization speculation.
Susan knew Jake would need an answer to his question in order to continue cooperating. He had already probably said too much. “The SFH has always believed my parents had access to a formula known only to them, one the SFH did not want anyone else to have. So about twenty-three years ago, they murdered my parents, gunned them down in cold blood.”
Jake’s eyes widened. “Wait a moment. A husband-and-wife team of robot scientists shot to death two decades ago. Susan, you’re Calvin and Amanda Campbell’s daughter?”
Lawrence made a pained sound. “I thought it would be safer if Susan never knew her original last name.”
Jake continued as if Lawrence had not spoken. “I was eleven when it happened, and I followed the developments every day. They initially thought it was a mob hit, but when they caught the guys, they couldn’t find any connection to organized crime. That’s the case that made me decide to become a police officer.” Apparently, Lawrence’s words finally sunk in. “You probably would have done a better job keeping Susan safe if you had given her a last name like Hinklemeyer—something no one would ever link to Dr. Calvin Campbell.”
Jake rose abruptly and walked to Lawrence’s desk, pressing his fingertips to the faux wood surface. “So, where does the decapitation fit into all of this? And the stolen body?” He seemed to be questioning himself as much as anyone.
Lawrence looked askance at Susan, leaving her to decide how much of her personal story Jake deserved to know.
Susan gave him a hint. “Your federal agents admitted to taking the head.” She glanced at Lawrence, who nodded his consent. “USR reclaimed the body.”
“So, who, exactly, is John Calvin and where does he fit—” Jake interrupted himself. “Oh, my God!” He whirled to face the others again. “Oh…my…God! John Calvin’s a…a robot. Isn’t he?” He turned Susan an accusatory look.
“I just found out Saturday,” Susan said. “Shortly before I went to your office.”
“You mean, all those years you couldn’t tell? That your own father…?”
Susan took immediate offense. “Don’t get all high and mighty with me, Detective. Your people examined the headless body and missed it, too. Besides, I’m of the firm belief that most robots are better company than humans—sounder, smarter, and far more honest and humane.”
“I’m sorry,” Jake said genuinely. “I have absolutely no experience with robots. For all I know, I’m the only flesh-and-blood human in the entire police department. I had no idea the technology had advanced so far.”
Susan wanted to trot out Nate, but wisely held her tongue. Jake knew even more than he had, so far, let on. She saw no reason to risk one of the last humanoid robots.
For the moment, the conversation seemed to have come to a natural conclusion. Jake blinked first. “Now that they have a positronic brain in their possession, it’s all over. Right?”
Alfred cleared his throat. “How so, young man?”
Jake seemed surprised by the question. “Well, I mean, it’s in their hands. They could analyze it and…and…”
Alfred cocked his head, apparently waiting for Jake to finish. When he did not, the head of research resorted to analogy. “Let’s say someone killed Susan here.” He waved vaguely, as if he had just surmised what she had for breakfast rather than blithely speaking of forfeiting her life. “Do you think if you chopped out her brain and put it under a microscope, you could re-create Susan Calvin?”
“Well, of course not.” Jake looked at Susan with concern, as if he worried the example might unnerve her. “But Susan’s a living, thinking human, and the human brain isn’t a bunch of wires and gears.”
Lawrence took over. “Even if you could exactly duplicate the neural pathways of her brain, you could not bring back her personality, her memories. Doing so would require reanimating her, as well as stimulating the exact neural pathways, with particular and differing electromagnetic pulses and neurotransmitters to simulate every experience of her former life.”
Jake clearly appreciated Lawrence’s explanation, though Susan doubted he fully understood it. “Exactly.” He added thoughtfully, “And I’m assuming you’re saying the positronic brain is as, or nearly as, complicated. But I’m not talking about them re-creating John Calvin in order to demand the uncoupling code from him. I’m just raising the possibility that having a positronic brain, any positronic brain, in their possession gives them the opportunity to experiment with it. To find the means to uncouple it from the Three Laws themselves.”
Alfred crinkled up his entire face. “Are you suggesting the government doesn’t already own robots with positronic brains? Because they do. At this point in time, they’re the only client who can afford us.”
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That surprised Susan as well as Jake. She responded before he could. “You mean there are more humanoid robots? And they work for the government?”
Jake mumbled, “That would explain some of my bosses.”
The look Alfred gave Susan could have withered daisies. “I didn’t say humanoid robots. I said robots with positronic brains. Those are two very different things.”
Jake returned to his original point. “So, what’s to stop them from opening up these robots and examining their positronic brains?”
“Nothing,” Lawrence admitted. “Other than voiding the warranty and permanently damaging a priceless tool that cost them hundreds of millions in taxpayer money.” He continued to study Jake. “What’s your point?”
Jake stared back. He clearly considered it obvious. “What’s to stop them from building their own positronic brain? Without the Three Laws as part of the process?”
Lawrence laughed, not at all concerned about that particular possibility. “Jake, it’s not like building an oven. Let’s assume the government has an abundant supply of platinum-iridium alloy and unrestricted access to funds and manpower.”
Jake nodded. It was an easy assumption from which to work.
“I have no doubt they could, with a lot of work and expense, build something that looked exactly like a positronic brain.”
“Okay,” Jake said, his point all but proven.
“They could also take bits of organic material and fashion a human brain that looked exactly like Susan’s.”
Susan wished they would leave her extracted brain out of it. She had come close enough to death for one day. Still, she listened carefully, guessing where Lawrence was going.
“What makes a positronic brain work isn’t the hardware, Jake. It’s the proper software, the invisible but extremely real mathematical formulae, electronic impulses, the programmed information, plans, orders, integrative systems, and a myriad other intangibles that allow functions that once seemed impossible. Remember when calculators did nothing but calculate, computers computed, and tape recorders recorded on tape? Ask ninety percent of people how a Vox works, and you’d get an evasive answer. The honest ones would admit they think it’s magic.”
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