“What is the purpose of doing an investigation where there was no crime committed?” asked Coltingham.
I turned in my chair. “Are we sure of that? Dammit, do I have to tell you how to do your job? How jaded have you become?”
“What if your investigation shows there was no misuse, as you call it, of the android by the governor?” asked Kurland. “That it was coincidence or an accident?”
“Then justice will have been served,” I said. “Megan Marshack is not in jail, is she?”
Coltingham raised an eyebrow.
“Who?” blurted Mattern.
“Mister Shuster is making a reference to a 25-year old aide who was with former Vice President Nelson Rockefeller the night he died in 1979,” said Kurland. “There were no charges, I recall. No investigation.”
“It wasn’t needed. If there was a relationship, it was between two consenting adults. If stupidity was a crime, perhaps Rockefeller would have been guilty because of a man his age and health banging someone young enough to be his granddaughter,” I said.
Kurland took his chin in his hand and listened to what I said next. “Yes, you know as well as I do the comparison is inexact, because if Governor Wilder had a heart attack as a result of or during sex with an android, we’re not dealing with two consenting adult humans, we’re dealing with the abuse of what is, at heart, a glorified tool. But the government has the right to regulate the uses and designs of products for public safety,” I said. “I’m within my rights to conduct an investigation.”
I turned to Coltingham. “For example, did Wilder die while he was screwing an android? Or because he was screwing an android?”
“Are you saying this is potentially a product safety issue, not a moral issue?’ asked Kurland.
“Yes, I’m not a member of the Moral Majority.”
Kurland looked at Coltingham. “What do you think of all this, Andy?”
“He’s within his rights. He can enact emergency amendments to the regulations if he likes. But I personally think you can defend whatever Wilder was doing with the android as ‘personal services,’” Coltingham replied.
“Yes, it may be considered a loophole, and it’s my prerogative to close any loopholes and protect the health and safety of the residents of the Mars colony,” I said.
“When Governor McCloskey arrives, I want us to both meet with him and discuss this affair,” Kurland said. “I’m sure it will be shown that I have no culpability, and I want him to know how you behaved.”
“I would expect nothing else from you,” I said. “Since you’re cooperating with the investigation, I’d like to know if you can tell us where the android is.”
“Which android?”
“The one Governor Wilder was with when he died,” I said. “I know Tesla can track any android, for repair and recovery purposes. It would be so much easier if you told us where it is.”
Kurland looked at Coltingham. “Andy?” he asked.
Coltingham looked down at the ground. “Yes, I know which one we’re talking about. Her name is Judy Nogales Cantina.”
“She belongs to the restaurant?” I asked.
“She belongs to the local franchisee,” said Coltingham. “She does delivery.”
“The more things change, the more they stay the same,” I said with a snort.
“Her nickname was Big Red,” said Coltingham.
“We need to question her,” I said. “Can you pick her up?”
Kurland looked at Coltingham. “Oh, that explains that.”
“Explains what?” I asked.
“The owner of the restaurant brought the android in a few weeks ago, said he wanted it retooled with a different face,” said Kurland. “Now we know why.”
“You didn’t know anything had happened with Governor Wilder?”
“Of course not.”
“That’s sure guilty behavior, him having the appearance of the android changed,” I said.
“Just updating a model,” said Kurland. “It’s done all the time.”
“Besides, don’t you Yanks believe in innocent until proven guilty?” asked Coltingham.
“Let’s say suspicious until proven innocent. Do we know where the android is?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I know it came in again for repairs just yesterday,” said Kurland. “It was damaged while making a delivery.”
“Excellent, then. Let’s have it delivered to the constabulary where it can be interrogated.” I said.
“It’s been disabled until it can be serviced,” said Kurland.
“Can just the positronic brain be activated? We don’t need it to be mobile.”
“It’s not possible to readily take the head off an android,” Kurland said.
“I didn’t say do a Marie Antoinette on it,” I said. “We just want to question it. Can it be delivered so it can answer questions?”
“I think that can be arranged,” Kurland said. “The work order will need to be completed beforehand, but then we can forward it to the Constable’s office.”
“Won’t Nogales Cantina question the diversion of the android?” asked Mattern.
“Yes, won’t they?” asked Coltingham.
“Tell them it’s evidence in a criminal investigation,” I said. “Tell them it’s not prostitution. I suppose pimping a robot is not a crime; not yet at least. Tell them we’re investigating an unexplained death.”
Coltingham looked at Kurland.
“I’ll tell them,” Kurland said plainly.
“Thank you. I appreciate your cooperation,” I said, as straight-faced as I could muster.
“Are we finally done for today?” asked Kurland.
“Yes, I think we are,” I said.
Coltingham and Mattern were already out the door, and I followed them. Then I stopped in the doorway and stole a trick directly out of Columbo’s trench coat.
“Oh, I almost forgot, one other thing,” I said reaching into my coat pocket. “I wanted to drop this off while I was here.”
I pulled a sheaf of the missing persons bulletins. “I would like these to be posted and distributed inside Tesla.”
Kurland took them, and his face froze. “Whatever for?”
He sounded like he was trying to control a stammer. I could tell he didn’t want to react, but I could see something in his eyes.
“I’d like to make some minor changes in the way the citizenry is encouraged to cooperate with law enforcement,” I lied. “Bulletins and public notices are issued all the time by police agencies Earth-side, and I think it is a good idea, in general.”
Just a few minutes earlier he had been all red in the face, but now his face was completely white. “Any reason for this particular example? Other than the crime happened in New York, where you came from?”
I think he knew the answer. “This case attracted my personal attention, that’s all.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“She was my girlfriend in college. She had the sense to throw me over and later marry a banker, but I still hate to think she was the victim of foul play.”
Kurland looked at the bulletin like it carried a curse. “I’ll take care of it.”
“Thanks. You have the largest factory in the colony. I would be grateful.”
Kurland stopped and thought and then pointed a finger at me. “You were once in love, weren’t you?”
“I thought so. Maybe with the benefit of a little maturity, I see now I was really very in lust with her,” I said.
“Have you met Mark Davis-Seale yet?”
I stopped. “No, I haven’t. I only just learned he is still on planet.”
I could tell Kurland was thinking fast. “He’s dying and in hospice,” he said. “He’s being cared for by a personal service android. I want you to visit him before he dies, and I want you to see how he is being cared for. You might get some insight into what an android can mean in the life of someone who needs companionship and attention. You might think more kindly about what some of the andr
oids can do.”
I reached into a pocket where I carried a small scratchpad. “How can I contact him?”
“I’ll find out whether he is well enough to see you,” said Kurland. “If so, I will get word to you.”
“I think I’d find that very interesting,” I said. “Get back to me, then.”
I left.
I didn’t say another word, but I knew from Kurland’s reaction that the photo on the poster had badly bothered him. As we walked down the corridor toward the private transport tunnel, Coltingham turned to me.
“I can’t fookin’ believe you pulled that Columbo stunt with him as we left,” he said.
“Hey, it works for Peter Falk.”
We passed the guards on the way out and sat down on the transport. Coltingham looked at the floor and we returned to the outer office in silence.
Cindy was there behind the desk. “I hope you gentlemen have a wonderful day!”
I looked around. “You need some flowers to brighten up this place,” I said.
Cindy looked very perplexed as we left.
We put our pressure suits back on at the airlock and rode back to Dome One in silence. The tractor traveled a little faster since we left the trailer behind holding the junk that was the excuse for the visit in the first place. Again, it was strange to see Jenny in normal clothes while we were enclosed in the pressure suits.
I tapped her on the shoulder. “Hey cabbie, go downtown. Don’t take the highway!”
“Excuse me, sir?”
“Just a joke to myself, a New York joke,” I said as I leaned back.
Mattern and Coltingham sat on the other side, impassive. I don’t know if it was because of the stress or what, but I was exhausted and I dozed off just sitting there.
Jenny woke me up by patting my shoulder from outside the tractor. “We’ve arrived, sir.”
We all pulled off our suits at the airlock and handed them to the attendant. Coltingham looked at Mattern and then at me.
“You’re coming to rough times, son,” he said as he shook his head. “I don’t know if you’re brave or stupid.”
“Probably both,” I said. “I don’t know if you’re cynical or corrupt. Maybe we’re both right.”
Chapter Thirteen
There really wasn’t much time to do anything with what was left of the afternoon. I began flipping through some of the newspapers and magazines piled up on my desk. Time magazine had a story about proposed legislation by Senator Brooke of Massachusetts to lift the ban on androids for the Earth and Moon. He was quoted as saying it would ease the lingering labor shortage in Western Countries.
Countries, such as Germany and Italy, which were devastated by World War II forty years earlier, still had problems with their workforce. Increasing numbers of “gastarbeiters”—as they called them in Germany—were flowing in from Turkey and elsewhere in the Middle East. They were poor and Muslim and not integrating well into their host countries. Germany and France, especially, were having protests and riots over the migrant workers. In France, especially, there were fears the reaction would propel right-wingers to power.
Back home, we had the double whammy of not getting any more immigration from Italy and Germany while the Soviet Bloc stopped immigration from Eastern Europe. The migrant worker population was flooding over the Mexican border into California and Texas, and, again, driving fears of a right-wing resurgence. If it wasn’t for their age, either Barry Goldwater or Ronald Reagan might have made another grab for the Presidency.
It was a liberal Republican, Brooke, who proposed the easing of the restriction on using robots to stabilize shifting populations back home.
“Interesting,” I muttered to myself. I thought that if such legislation passed, Tesla would be the beneficiary and be able to quickly start shipping robots back to Earth. I could imagine Kurland with his small, steepled fingers pulling yet more strings.
Too much drama for one day,, I thought. I dialed Laura. “You doing anything for dinner tonight?”
“Yes, sorry, I have a previous commitment,” she said.
“Well, I need a little distraction,” I said. “Work is getting to me.”
“You’ll need to distract yourself tonight,” she said, a bit snippy.
“I didn’t mean it to sound that way,” I said.
“I know, but I’m really busy. We can talk later.”
I dropped the receiver heavily onto the phone hook. “Well, that went badly.”
I stopped by Sherry’s desk on the way out. “See you in the morning.”
“You not having dinner with Laura?” she asked.
“Not tonight,” I said.
“I’m sorry,” she said. I had no response.
Outside the transport station, I looked at the newsstand kiosk. A thought crossed my mind. I picked up a paper and handed the vendor a quarter. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure.”
“How many editions does the I-Trib print each day?”
“I don’t get you.”
“On Earth, papers print different editions during the day, you know. How many different times a day does the Tribune publish?”
He nodded. “I got you. It’s not like that here. Nobody has extra editions. Just one a day, and that’s it.”
“One day I picked up a copy of the paper at 5 PM and another at 10 PM, and there had been a change. I thought there were different editions.”
He knitted his brow. “Oh, the only time I’ve seen that done is when there’s a mistake in the paper, and then they come out and recall them,” he said. “They replace all the copies.”
“How often does that happen?” I asked.
“I’ve been here four years, and it’s only happened once, just a little while ago. They came back and replaced all the papers by 6:30.”
“That sounds like a big deal,” I said.
“It seemed to be, but the guy who picked up the papers said there was something in there that wasn’t supposed to be in there.”
Needless to say, that was some food for thought. I thanked him and walked into the transport station. I walked past a large man in work clothes, who turned to look at me. “Mister Shuster?”
I turned to see a smiling, red- haired man in coveralls. “Jake! Jake Lingvall! What are you doing here in Dome One?”
He came over and pumped my hand. “You remember me?”
“Sure, from the arbitration. You doing any work around here?”
“We’re having to replace duct work that was blown out by the breach at the Executive Hilton,” he said. He smiled broadly. “Because of what you said, they didn’t even mention using androids for the work.” He shook my hand again. “Thanks, man!”
“Robots are supposed to be helpers, not replacements,” I said. “The only reason we have to put up with them at all is because the suits back on Earth think this is the boondocks.”
He laughed. “You think they will ever be outlawed entirely?”
“I don’t know. The longer I stay here, the more I think they’re a bad idea,” I said.
“You ever get a creepy feeling that you don’t know who around you is a robot or not?” he asked.
“Funny you say that. The androids are getting so life-like, just the other day I was in a restaurant and I didn’t realize how many androids were there until there was a loud noise. I could tell from their reactions how many there were,” I said. “Why do you ask?”
“There’s a club where me and some of the union boys hang out. No robots allowed,” he said with a wink. “We’re having some mushroom steaks tonight, and there’ll be live music. We have our own little bluegrass band.”
I thought about it for a moment and hesitated.
Jake spoke up. “Aw, I know, you probably have a hot date.”
“You know what, I don’t, and it would do me some good to hang out with some regular folks,” I said. “Are you inviting me?”
“Shit, yeah, I mean …”
We both laughed at his enthusiasm.
The transport pulled in.
“I’m going there right now, if you want to come,” he said.
“I’m right behind you.”
Like the Hideaway, where I was taken the first night I was on Mars, this was a hole-in-the-(dome)-wall on the lowermost level. The corridor was apparently left unfinished from when the colony was first constructed. We walked up to a large blue door. Jake knocked.
“There’s no name,” I said.
“This is a private club,” he said. “Just for union members.”
The door opened. “Hey, Jake,” a young lady said. “Who’s your friend?”
I reached forward and shook her hand.
“This is Mister Shuster, from administration,” Jake said.
“Oh, please, Mister Shuster. Please come in!” she blurted.
The ceiling was low. Since there was no smoking allowed, the original stucco remained a bright white color. The furniture was plain, sturdy chairs and tables. There was a counter and kitchen at one end, a low stage at the other.
Our waitress led us to a table. “You want a steak tonight, Jake?”
“Sure. Would you like one, too, Mister Shuster?”
“Call me Dave. Yes, I’ve gotten used to these Martian mushroom substitutes. I’d love one. Do you have some big baked potatoes?”
“Yes, sir,” she smiled. “The biggest. You want everything on it?’
“No chives, extra butter.”
“Beer for you both?”
Jake looked at me and I nodded.
She walked away.
“Nice view in the rear view mirror, eh?” Jake commented.
“Yes, certainly looks all natural to me,” I said.
“We unofficially call this place ‘The Bluegrass Babysitters.’”
“Where’s that name come from?”
“Well, we really don’t have a name, but one time someone asked Bill Blevins—he was one of the guys with us that day in arbitration—he asked Bill Blevins why he came to this ‘dump’—that’s what they called it—and Bill roars at them, ‘Because they play bluegrass, baby!’ Bill’s from Tennessee, see. He likes bluegrass.” He made an affirmative gesture. “Do you like bluegrass?”
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