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

"Farewell, madam." He paused, realizing something more should follow. "Parting is such sweet sorrow."
Allison stared at him, unable to summon a syllable to cover her surprise. Then she found herself smiling at him, charmed and amused by his solemn, terribly formal manner. "I do hope you're going with someone on this trip?"
"Yes," Questor said somberly. "I see it is quite necessary. Thank you."
He moved again to leave, and she involuntarily reached out after him. "You do have a name, don't you?"
Questor stopped, half turned to her, and hesitated. He searched his mind for an answer and found the only one that fit. "Yes, Miss Sample. My name is ... Questor."
He left as quickly and quietly as he had come. Allison made no move to stop him. She was paralyzed by the impact of what he had said. Questor? There is no one on the project named Questor. There is only-the project.
5
Jerry Robinson had gone to bed after Darro left. He had suddenly felt weary, and not only because it had been a long day. He had been more disappointed than he wanted to admit when the android failed to function. The following conferences, overtures, and accusations had added to his worries; so he took refuge in sleep. Now he dreamed, again and again seeing the android as it strove for life on the assembly pallet-and failed.
The shadow that darkened the grilled window did not disturb him. Subconsciously he heard the faint, reverberating bing of metal being bent aside, and thought it was part of his dream. The gentle sound of the window being raised did not disturb him either. He had reached the part of his dream where the android thrashed and strained against the bonds on the assembly pallet. Suddenly, strong fingers clamped across his mouth and nose.
Jerry's eyes flew open, and he sat up, panicked. The light from the window revealed only a male figure bending over him. The man spoke quietly, in a curiously flat, expressionless voice.
"Mr. Robinson, I mean you no harm. I must speak with you."
Jerry stared up at the stranger and nodded. He had no other choice: he was almost smothering. The man promptly removed his hand and Jerry took a deep gulp of air. When his breathing steadied a little, he demanded, "Who are you?"
"I am Questor."
Jerry looked up again, puzzled for a moment. The stranger moved aside slightly, and Jerry caught sight of
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the iron grillwork that had been wrenched away. Then it sank in. There was only one ... thing . . . that could have bent those bars so radically and so silently. The stranger -it-regarded him calmly. Jerry tried to make a break for the door, but Questor's arm shot out and firmly held him where he was.
"Please do not call out, Mr. Robinson," Questor said reasonably. "I am programmed to prevent that if necessary."
Jerry subsided, again, having no choice. He knew that the android could break his arm twice as easily as it had bent the grillwork. Jerry had built the thing, after all. He tried to think, organize a plan, but all he could see was this creature standing over him-a creature that looked, simply, like a man in his early thirties. The hah", the brows, the skin texture, had all been done with great finesse. Studying the android now, Jerry realized that it must have followed the cosmetology instructions to the last detail. He should have recognized Questor immediately, but he had been accustomed to thinking of it as the smooth, hairless piece of machinery he had constructed.
That was it.
"If you know my name, you must understand. I am the human who put you together."
"I do understand that."
Jerry scrambled off the bed and backed away from Questor. His voice shook slightly as the android followed him step for step. "You must obey my instructions. You hear me? I am ordering you to-"
The door lock clicked abruptly and the guard came in, machine gun in hand. "I thought I heard . . ." His eyes swept the scene: the warped grillwork bars, the stranger confronting an apparently intimidated Robinson. He started to turn the gun on the intruder.
Questor moved faster. He recognized the guard and the gun as dangers as soon as the door opened. He grabbed the barrel of the machine gun with his left hand and squeezed. At the same second, with his right hand he touched a spot just behind the man's ear. The guard collapsed like a deflated balloon.
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Jerry bent over the man as Questor quietly closed the door. He was relieved to find that the guard was only unconscious. The pulse and heartbeat were strong. Jerry looked up as Questor spoke in that curious monotone.
"My university tape programming was most helpful, Mr. Robinson." He gestured toward the guard. "The human anatomy information allowed ,me to select a nerve which will keep him unconscious for approximately one hour."
"Naturally you don't have that vulnerability," Jerry said shakily.
"You are well aware of that, Mr. Robinson. As you pointed out, you constructed me."
Jerry pulled himself together and controlled his voice. "Right. And, as I also pointed out, you have to obey me. I am ordering you to return to the laboratory!"
"I am grateful for your advice, but I must leave immediately for a metropolitan complex known as London." His hand descended to Jerry's shoulder. "And it is essential that you accompany me."
Jerry felt the tremendous strength of the android's fingers pressed into his shoulder, though Questor was obviously careful not to hurt him. But all he could do was stare at the machine gun, which had fallen beside the guard. The barrel was flattened and bent into a right angle. And the hand resting on his shoulder had done it.
6
Jerry Robinson drove the freeway's slowest lane, heading west on the Golden State, merging into the Ventura Freeway, maintaining a speed of fifty. The android seated beside him attentively studied the night-lighted scenery, the traffic flow, the ramp signs, but he did not question Jerry's operation of the car. Possibly Questor had not absorbed the principles of driving. Jerry's mind raced over alternatives and plans for escape, but he kept running into barriers. He knew he might be able to engineer a minor accident that would disable the car. But that involved physical risk to himself and possibly to innocent bystanders. Besides, the android's reflexes were faster than his and he could probably prevent it. He knew Questor was quicker and stronger than he was. Trying to escape on foot would be useless, and combat ridiculous. All he could do for the moment was go the slowest, longest route possible to Los Angeles International Airport and try to dissuade the android with logic. He cleared his throat, and Questor turned his head to look at him.
"You realize this is insane. Don't you understand you belong back at the lab? There is so much work to be done yet."
"The work has been done."
"You're not capable of making that decision!" Jerry fought down an impulse to keep on shouting. Logic. Calm logic was the only answer. "Look . . . you know I literally put you together. I installed your-your brain. I fed in the program tapes."
"I am quite aware of that, Mr. Robinson. I have in38
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tended to ask you why your programming was so incomplete in one area and so redundant in another."
Jerry wriggled his shoulders uncomfortably, and his friendly face .twisted into a scowl. "That wasn't my idea. The scientists tried to decipher the Vaslovik tape, but all they did was destroy-" He switched suddenly to indignation, annoyed at himself for forgetting what Questor was. "I don't have to answer questions from you. You are supposed to do what I tell you. Respect and obedience ... respect and obedience."
"But I do respect you, Mr. Robinson, and I shall cooperate in all logical ways. Why are you not prepared to do the same in return?"
"Because you are a machine!"
A car cut into the lane ahead, just missing Jerry's front fender. He braked and snarled an obscene comment about the driver's birth and misbegotten lineage. Then, remembering, he glanced over at Questor. The android watched him quietly, apparently unfazed by the near miss.
"Cogito, ergo sum," Questor said.
"What?"
"A rather important philosophical aphorism, first enunciated by the French philosopher Descartes."
Jerry nodded and automatically guided the car into the cloverleaf ramp that would take them onto the San Diego Freeway heading south. "I think, therefore I am. What makes you think you think?"
"Quite perceptive, Mr. Robinson. That question has been troubling me as well. Cogito, ergo sum. Am I?"