“YOU DON’T KNOW where he went, then?” the voice of the Querayn Senior asked.
The robot’s eyes winked in the darkness. “Unfortunately, no.”
“But you were following.”
“I was outfitted as a corporate messenger. They had already noticed me twice, and when they changed tube-trains quickly I had no choice but to abandon the direct surveillance. It was too late for the backup to arrive.”
“And the microtransponder?”
The robot was silent for a time. “My backup traced it into the city sewer system,” it answered finally. “It entered the sewer somewhere in the vicinity of the downtown crossing. I regret that I can provide no further detail on their whereabouts.” The robot paused. “We know, however, that his friend made a number of contacts while they were at Ruskin’s apartment. Perhaps you can discreetly trace those contacts.”
“Indeed,” said the voice of the person known to the robot as Karel. “We have already tried to do so. Ruskin’s security system is excellent; however, we believe that Ali’Maksam called several of his nonQuerayn colleagues—unfortunately. We might have wished that he had trusted us more; but he was quite angry when he spoke to us last. We can only speculate on whom the others might have referred him to, if he was seeking help for Ruskin. Several possibilities concern us—individuals who are not necessarily our adversaries, but who might interfere unwittingly with their facilities and expertise. There is Councilor Sussinsky, of great influence in the research community. There is Martha Shariff, the academician. Either of them might be able to command an intervention. And there is E’rik Daxter.”
“The nonincarnate?” the robot asked.
“Yes. He was a brilliant researcher in the field while alive. As a cybernetic consciousness, however, he is quite reclusive. We do not know his present capabilities or location, but we know that he is on Kantano’s World, and that he maintains contacts with certain members of the Logothian academic community. We dare not underestimate the danger if any of these people are involved—but especially Daxter. We judge him the most likely to be secretive in meeting with Ruskin. And perhaps the most capable of decoding the programming.”
The robot hummed in thought. “Could he undo the plan, then?”
“Perhaps. We doubt that he could disable one set of instructions without disabling all. If so, there would go our best hope. Still, it would be no easy matter, even for him. They may be content with trying to restore Ruskin’s behavior to normal, which is what we hoped for anyway.”
“Do you wish me to undertake any action?”
There was a moment of silence in the gloom before the Querayn Senior answered. “Continue your observations. We are deeply concerned about the premature change, and the apparent violence at Tamika Jones’s residence—notwithstanding your belief that it was a temporary instability in the Tandesko programming, rather than ours. We must be cautious. We may ask you to try to obtain further information, perhaps a small tissue sample, after he returns—if he returns—to help us determine whether or not we have lost him. And keep in mind that we must know, as well: Can we trust Ali’Maksam?”
The robot blinked. “He appears to be a loyal friend. But yes. I understand.”
“Thank you, Querobo Jeaves.”
The robot rose. “And now I must change form, and go and make my other report. I will do my best to assure my other employer that Ruskin is behaving normally. We don’t want them intervening again, if we can avoid it.”
“Of course.
The robot turned with a whir and passed back out through the dim passageways by which it had come in. Eventually it made its way to the exit lock and out into the afternoon sun.
* * *
Stanley Broder eyed his coworkers balefully. He hadn’t slept worth a damn last night, and he’d figured there was some reason why. Now he knew. It had been a premonition.
He asked incredulously, “Are you telling me that you’ve lost him?”
Ilex Gorminski stood between the two of them, looking perplexed. But Jeaves answered the question calmly. “I shouldn’t worry too much about it, sir. The man’s work allows him to come and go as he pleases, and no one at his office is seriously concerned. He’s always done much of his work at home; he’s known for not coming in for several days at a time.”
“But he’s not at his home, is he?”
“No, but he was last seen in the company of two of his friends.” The robot lowered itself to a resting position. It was dressed in a new body, that of an appliance repair mech—which did nothing to enhance Broder’s instinctive suspicions. He wished he’d been more suspicious of the robot from the beginning. Well, it wasn’t too late to start. “Don’t forget, sir,” Jeaves added, “he was recently reunited with his girlfriend, Ms. Jones. Is it not reasonable to expect that a romantic encounter may have ensued? Perhaps a getaway, of sorts?”
“Jeaves, what do you know about romance?” Broder asked with a sneer.
“Only enough to infer that a resumption of relations with Ms. Jones could be a sign that he is stabilizing into a normal mode of behavior.”
Broder snorted. “By running away? It could also be a sign that he’s not recovering, that the masking programs aren’t working worth a damn, and that he’s gone looking for outside help!”
Ilex really looked uncomfortable now. And Broder knew that his outburst wasn’t strictly fair. What he was really angry about was that he himself had relied too much upon the robot for monitoring Ruskin; he hadn’t been insistent enough on the need for a human backup. And that was his own fault. Now, for all he knew, the robot was absolutely right, and Ruskin and his girl were simply holed up somewhere humping their brains out, with that alien friend of theirs standing lookout, or maybe taking part. But he couldn’t afford to take that chance.
“Stanley,” Gorminski said, “aren’t you overreacting? All the signs have been positive, after all.”
“What? The fact that Jeaves heard him have an argument with Jones first thing after seeing her? That’s positive?”
“Well, some dislocation seems inevitable. Consider the adjustments. Anyway, Jeaves says it wasn’t a long argument—and they did make up afterward.”
“As nearly as I could tell,” Jeaves interjected. “I was, after all, monitoring from outside the woman’s apartment, so I am really only drawing inferences.”
Broder grudgingly acknowledged the robot’s admission. “And then they team up with this Logoth and disappear,” he said. “How did you lose them, anyway, Jeaves?”
The robot seemed to consider the question carefully before answering. What, did it need to think about it? Broder wondered. Or was this part of its pseudo-personality programming?
“A simple miscalculation on my part,” the metal being said finally. “I’m afraid I was being overcautious in following them—perhaps being too cognizant of my cover role. They might have seen me, or not. In any case, they left a tube-train too quickly for me to follow without betraying myself. I observed the policy that losing the quarry was preferable to letting him know that he was being followed.
“Yes, but I thought you had a damn transponder on him. It was supposed to back you up if you lost him.”
“Indeed I did,” Jeaves said regretfully. “I’m afraid it seems to have failed.”
“Failed—?”
Jeaves shifted position slightly. “Cheap imported components, perhaps.”
Broder glared at him.
“Joke,” the robot said hastily. “It was a joke. But based on a genuine possibility.”
Broder shot a glance at Gorminski, whose eyes seemed to protest, I didn’t program his personality! Broder turned back to the robot. “When I want jokes, I’ll hire a comedian. Are you telling me that it was a defective unit?”
Jeaves clicked. “I cannot be certain, but it seems the most likely explanation. The unit normally stayed in passive mode, of course, to avoid needless detection of its signal. After I lost Ruskin, I was unable to activate it; but it might have failed at any time during that day, and I wouldn’t have known.” The robot gazed back at Broder.
“But it might have been removed.”
“That, of course, is possible also.”
Broder turned away, unsatisfied. Still, there was nothing he could do except put Jeaves back on the job and hope that the man returned. Well, perhaps he could do one other thing.
“All right,” he said to Gorminski. “Unless you have anything else, I suppose we should get our metal friend here back on the job.”
“Absolutely. I agree,” Gorminski said.
“And Jeaves—don’t take this personally, but I intend to get a backup agent on the job with you. A living backup agent.”
“I look forward to it,” Jeaves said. “Shall I return to my station now?”
Broder stared at the robot thoughtfully. Its mech body was smaller than its butler body, and more ordinary—a standard commercial model, to all appearances—but still not entirely unobtrusive. “Jeaves, do you really think a repair mech can hang around an apartment building unnoticed?”
“For a time, perhaps. Waiting for a customer to return. Plus, I was hoping to visit his office—on a repair call.”
“Leave that to April. You watch his home.”
“Very well. But do you think that this cover role is inappropriate?”
“I don’t know, Jeaves. Jesus. If he doesn’t show up after a while, change into something else. Ask the surveillance team for that sort of help, not me.”
“Of course. If that’s all, sir, I’ll be going. He could be returning anytime.”
Broder made a gesture of dismissal. The robot turned with a whisper and a click and rolled out of the room. Broder sighed and poured himself a cup of coffee. He grimaced as he took a sip and peered at Gorminski, who was studying him worriedly. “What’s the matter?”
Gorminski shrugged. He unwrapped a hard chocolate and popped it into his mouth. “Just that you were pretty hard on old Jeaves, there. Do you think it’s that serious?”
“For chrissakes, Ilex, Jeaves is a machine! We don’t have to be careful about hurting its feelings!” Broder shook his head. “Yeah, it’s serious. Ruskin will be leaving soon, and we have to know. But it may not be fatal. I’m just going to watch—very carefully. And that means getting in a call right now for another agent.”
“Okay.” Gorminski dropped into his seat and switched on his terminal, ignoring Broder. After a moment, he turned. “You’re going to take care of that, right?”
“Yeah,” Broder said, “I’ll take care of it.” And now, he thought, I’ve not only insulted the robot, I’ve insulted the robot’s best friend. Am I supposed to care? Ilex cares more about whether we think he did the programming right than whether we succeed. Jesus Christ, we should get him off this planet. He is turning into one of these people. So am I, probably.
“I’ll be back,” he muttered, walking out of the room. He’d make these calls in private, until he was ready to let Ilex know what he was thinking. Ilex would have to be in on it eventually, of course, but only after the necessary preparations were done.
Closing the door to his private office, he switched on the security screen and the console. He was going to have to have it out with the surveillance office about getting him more help. But first he had another call to make.
He punched in the code. The holo glowed to life, and the familiar pattern swirled before him. “Ganz?” he said.
“Ah,” the pattern answered. “I was wondering if you’d give me the chance to try again.”
“Don’t be bloodthirsty.”
“I am not. I am merely troubled by a job unfinished. What are the details?”
“I just want you ready, if it has to be done.”
“I am always ready.”
“The method will be different this time. If it happens.” He sighed, hoping desperately that this eventuality would not come to pass. If Ruskin died, the entire operation could go to the enemy. But if they lost control of Ruskin and he lived, the political costs could go even higher. No, he had to be ready.
“It will require preparation, Ganz. And possibly a spacecraft. You might be doing some traveling.”
“Ah—”