"Fontana,.D.C.-.Questor.Tapes" - читать интересную книгу автора (Fontana D C)

Jerry kicked himself mentally, realizing what he had done. He could have continued on the Ventura Freeway, not turned south onto the very road past the airport! Maybe, if he was careful, he could ease onto the Santa Monica or Long Beach Freeway, both of which crossed this one. That would divert them long enough . . . long enough ... for what?
"Am I?" Questor asked again.
"Just thinking doesn't mean you're alive," Jerry said distractedly.
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"Since I function--crudely at times, I admit, but I feel I shall improve, with your help-your statement does not seem totally relevant."
"If you're so damned perfect, why do you need me?"
Now it was Questor's turn to pause and think about his reply. He frowned slightly, but Jerry was too busy driving to notice it. "Because," Questor said slowly, "my instructions are incomplete."
"You are simply an ambulatory computer device. Do you accept that much?"
"Completely."
Jerry allowed himself a small sigh. "Good. Now, as a human being with years of experience in this human world, I'm telling you we can't go to London."
This time he saw Questor tilt his head slightly to the right. It was an inquisitive, puzzled gesture, and very human. Where had the android gotten that?
"I have no choice but to try, Mr. Robinson. My creator's programming tape included that I go to him. As quickly as possible."
"Do you know that he's in London?"
"No."
"Do you know if he's even alive?"
"No. Yet I cannot disregard that command. I must find him. London is a beginning."
"That tape was damaged, partially erased! So whatever instructions Vaslovik left you could be garbled, twisted..."
"Incorrect," Questor said patiently. "The imperative to find Vaslovik was perfectly clear. It is his location which was erased and fragmented. Do human minds contain such specific imperatives-or are they all as random and disorganized as yours seem to be?"
Jerry snapped his head around toward Questor. "Listen, it was a human mind which conceived of you . . . humans who put you together ..."
"Please attend to the operation of the vehicle, Mr. Robinson." Jerry looked back at the freeway in time to avoid run-
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ning up the rear of a big double rig. Questor's voice went on levelly. "I have no desire to appear hypocritical, but I find it astonishing that precise and voluminous knowledge of the various sciences helps so little in the understanding of human behavior." "We get along."
"I am not entirely convinced of that," Questor said. "This is ridiculous. I will not argue with a machine." Jerry leaned back in the seat, fuming, clenching the wheel with white-knuckled hands. Then he noticed the image of the police car in his rear-view mirror. It was a California Highway Patrol black-and-white, routinely patrolling. Jerry casually slid his left hand off the wheel and turned off the headlights.
"Resume nocturnal illumination, please." Jerry winced and reluctantly turned on the lights. Questor turned to study the other cars moving around them." "It seems only logical that we emulate the practices of the other vehicles."
"Right," Jerry said wearily. He saw the police car going off the last exit ramp they passed. No help there. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes," Questor said promptly. "Good. This is not the way to the airport." "Incorrect. We are now precisely 11.24 miles from the air-vehicle terminal. This roadway will deliver us to a lesser artery leading directly to the terminal complex."
"There's no possible way you can know that," Jerry snapped incredulously.
"I glanced at a metropolitan diagram in the Vaslovik Archives."
"You took one look at the city map?" Questor nodded calmly. "You installed my vision components quite well, Mr. Robinson. It is because of my flaws in other areas that I vitally need your assistance. More than my creator's location was erased from his tape. I seem to have no ... explanation of myself. Can you inform me why I must find my creator?"

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Jerry frowned and held the wheel tighter. "I'm beginning to worry about that, too. A lot."
The guard had come to precisely an hour after Questor had dropped him. It took him ten minutes to get to Darro's room, wake the project chief, and explain. Five minutes after that, Darro was dressed and standing in Jerry's quarters, surveying the damage. The guard sheepishly rubbed his neck, still embarrassed. Darro's assistant, Walter Phillips, picked up the machine gun and handed it to his boss. As he did, he tapped the impossibly flattened and bent barrel.
". . . then I heard voices," the guard was saying. "One was Mr. Robinson saying something about it having to obey his orders."
Darro examined the smashed machine gun. "Describe the android's appearance, please," he said impassively.
The guard shrugged. "Well . . . just a guy. Average. But when I went in, I never saw anything move so fast."
Phillips had moved over to the window and touched the bent grillwork bars. "Mr. Darro, if it should get out there's something like that loose which can do this . . ." he touched the bars again, then looked back at the weapon, "and that..."
"I see no reason to risk a panic by identifying it. I'm not even sure anyone would believe it. Robinson obviously controls it very well." He turned abruptly to the security guard. "Have my full staff assembled in my office in five minutes." He waited until the guard left before he spoke to Phillips. "The android is functional, as far as we can tell. It must have a certain amount of mental facility, and it clearly has full physical capacity."
"Do you really think Robinson controls it?"
Darro considered it, then shook his head doubtfully. "It's possible, but who can say? The android broke out of the lab by itself and came here. The guard said Robinson seemed to be afraid of the thing. But he didn't get too good a look before it put him out."
"Painlessly," Phillips pointed out. "He didn't hurt the man."
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"I might point out that that could have been sheer accident." Darro gestured toward the door with the ruined machine gun. "We've got work to do."
Traffic into Los Angeles International Airport was always heavy, even late on a weekday night. The roar of the jets landing and taking off was almost constant, nervetearing if one stood outside too long. It was past midnight, but all the terminals were alive with people departing and arriving. The vast parking areas in the center section were almost full. Jerry pulled his car into a lot opposite the long terminal building housing the international carriers and managed to slide into a space another car had just left. He sighed, feeling as if he had already completed a wearying journey. Almost as an afterthought, he switched off the ignition and lights. Then he turned to Questor and studied him intently for a long moment. The android silently stared back, waiting for him.
Jerry nodded with ironic satisfaction. "I'll say this much for you. It's an engineer's dream to have something this complex come together so perfectly. I almost wish I could go with you to London, study how you react to different situations."
"But you are accompanying me to London, Mr. Robinson."
"Will you try to understand that that's impossible!" Jerry snapped. Then he stopped, gathered in his flaring temper, and tried to be logical. He had to remember logic with this thing. "There are many reasons why not. For example, it would require six to seven hundred dollars for us to purchase travel to London." He dug into his jacket pocket and pulled out his wallet. Opening it, he thumbed through the money and showed it to Questor. "And I have a total of ... thirty-three dollars."
The android took the wallet and examined it for himself. Jerry smiled triumphantly as Questor said, "I understand. Contemporary economic practices were included in my university tape programming."
Jerry began to feel a warm glow starting. At last! He had gotten through that peculiarly stubborn programmed
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