The Questor Tapes (8 page)

Dr. Chen bent over the desk, showing Darro the hair-implanting machine and several used cosmetic preparations. A secretary took notes in shorthand as he displayed each item.

“You see the traces of several types of medium-brown hair in the implanter.”

“Be specific, Chen!” Darro snapped. “Brows, lashes, body hair . . . ?”

“Apparently following existing programming, there was normal hair distribution on the body. Scalp hair thick and curly. It also appears he—
it
used the preparations designed to simulate moles, sun wrinkles, typical epidermic imperfections. It also used a medium fair skin tone—”

Darro interrupted quickly, “Are you saying it’ll look human in every way?”

“Yes, sir. As programmed.”

The project chief nodded and looked questioningly at Phillips. “We have an artist’s rendering being copied now for distribution,” Phillips said.

“Good. We can keep to our escaped-lunatic story.” Darro turned to the secretary and began to dictate further search and surveillance instructions. Phillips wondered whether it would work. The android had been programmed to look like any average American male. It was tourist season in Europe. If the android got that far, how would they find him among the millions of sightseers in vacationing crowds? Phillips doubted that even Darro was that good.

7

T
he jet approached Heathrow Airport in a dense fog that had Jerry’s heart in his throat throughout the descent. Questor peered out the window with interest, scanning what seemed to be layer after layer of thick mist.

“Pea soup,” Jerry muttered.

Questor glanced at him, head tilted questioningly to the right. “I do not
analyze
that substance as a comestible,” he said. “It is a heavy moisture layer consisting of—”

“Questor,” Jerry said patiently, “I was using a slang expression for
fog.”

“I see. My knowledge of the vernacular seems to be lacking. I trust you will help me in this area?”

“Oh sure. We’ll have lots of time to review the language . . . in prison.”

“I have a plan, Mr. Robinson,” Questor said calmly.

Jerry nodded skeptically. “Right.”

The British immigration officials were very polite, as Jerry knew they would be. They listened, without interruption, to the fabricated story about the passports in the luggage. But, of course, there was that one little hitch. There was no luggage. Questor said it was undoubtedly lost in transit. He understood that a great many suitcases were misrouted in error. The immigration officials nodded courteously and asked them to accompany the guard to the office where everything would be straightened out. Jerry began to calculate his remaining hours of freedom.

The chief immigration inspector was on the phone at his desk when the guard escorted Jerry and Questor toward his glass-walled office. “No luggage at all?” he said into the receiver. “No baggage checked in Los Angeles . . . no possible error? You’re certain?” He listened to the voice on the other end of the phone and nodded. “Yes. Yes, quite interesting. Thank you.” He hung up and studied the two men being ushered in by the guard.

The taller of the two appeared to be in his late twenties. He had dark hair, intelligent, lively eyes under a high, wide forehead. At the moment, a slightly worried frown creased the forehead, spoiling the normally cheerful, friendly face. He was a slender man, well dressed in a black turtleneck sweater and slacks and wearing a tailored suede jacket.

The other man was shorter but more sturdily built. He was lighter haired and fair skinned, a man with a curiously immobile expression. And his clothes! The inspector’s proper soul was scandalized at the sight of the open-necked sport shirt, tweed jacket, chinos, and white socks. He almost wished there were a dress code to enforce, but these two were in enough trouble as it was.

He stood up, half bowing courteously. “Would you mind terribly if there’s a little delay?”

“No,” Jerry said as casually as possibly. “Of course not. Why should we mind?”

“This way, please.” The immigration inspector led them down a short corridor, the guard discreetly following in case of trouble. They stopped at a detention-room, and the inspector dug out a key to unlock the door. He opened it and turned to Jerry and Questor. “Would you mind waiting in here? You’ll find it more comfortable while we sort out some red tape.”

“We will acquiesce to your request,” Questor said politely. He entered the room, and Jerry followed.

The immigration inspector closed the door behind them and locked it. Jerry looked around the room. There wasn’t much to see. It wasn’t a cell—there were comfortable chairs and a table . . . but there were no windows. The only other door besides the one through which they had entered was a heavy metal fire door on the opposite wall.

Jerry turned to Questor. “You said you had a plan!”

Questor nodded and went to the fire door. It was locked or bolted from the other side. “Since an extraterritorial investigation of this nature involves several government agencies, and thus several detention locations . . .” He systematically examined the door to determine how it was secured, then firmly grasped the top hinge “. . . we will inspect the detention potential of each until . . .” He pulled, and the top hinge twisted completely loose in his hand, accompanied by the sound of protesting metal and crumbling concrete. The door sagged. “. . . a reasonable exit is discovered.” He bent and pulled free the bottom hinge, then lifted the door aside. “Logic indicates the simplest plan is usually best.”

Jerry stared at the wrecked door. “It also helps if you can pull three-inch steel bolts out of reinforced concrete. Let’s get out of here.”

“Of course,” Questor said politely. “That is my programmed imperative.”

Darro was presiding over the meeting in the security conference room, and presiding with some impatience. Every new revelation caused a ripple of excitement or startled comment in the audience. They included the project scientists, intelligence personnel, and several other government representatives from the five powers. Two high-ranking generals sat in the front row, frowning as Darro spoke.

“Next, the American government has uncovered a few disturbing facts. Dr. Bradley, please?”

Phyllis Bradley rose and glanced briefly at the sheaf of reports in her hand. “Our psychologists are unanimous in the opinion that despite Robinson’s intelligence, he displays a well-defined personality introversion. Dr. Chen?”

“Our doctors concur totally. It is highly unlikely that Robinson could have planned this—or even cooperated willingly.”

“In short,” Darro said, “it appears that the android engineered its own escape.” He waited for the babble of talk to recede. “What we face, then, is an incredibly efficient machine. Its capabilities may go far beyond what we ever expected.”

Gorlov hunched up to the edge of his chair suspiciously. “My government finds it hard to consider even such a clever machine to be an international crisis. You have asked to be given exceptional powers, Mr. Darro.”

“I suggest to your government, Doctor, it may be crucial to find it now—while there is only
one
such machine to deal with.”

The French scientist, Audret, pushed to his feet and spoke over the furor in the room. “Monsieur, it required our combined resources to build only one of them. If you are suggesting someone plans an army of such devices—”

Darro interrupted coldly. “Doctor, are you certain this machine may not be capable of reproducing itself? And there are other possibilities. We know it can change its appearance at will, perhaps to resemble any of you here, or even a national leader.” He ignored the stir of voices and quieted them with the power of his own. “But the most pressing questions are
why
was it designed?
Why
was it programmed to escape? I think it’s important that you now hear from someone who actually knew and worked with Dr. Vaslovik. Miss Allison Sample, his former secretary.”

Allison had been seated in a corner, barely noticed by the others. At Darro’s gesture, she stood and came to the podium. Darro noticed that she trembled slightly and her hands dripped with nervous perspiration. He extended himself and managed a genuinely reassuring smile for her.

“Miss Sample has been made aware of the confidential nature of this meeting. Please speak freely, Miss Sample.”

She nodded, a little more sure of herself. “I’d like to make it clear I first consented to answer questions about my former employer only because of my concern for Mr. Robinson.”

“Miss Sample was admirably reticent,” Darro interjected. He nodded to her. “But what changed that? When Vaslovik’s background records were checked—
thoroughly
checked by my people—please tell us what was discovered.”

Allison bit her lip nervously. It was difficult for her to admit the facts that Darro had shown her. How could she have worked so closely with Vaslovik and never known? She realized that the audience was waiting for her, and forced herself to speak. “Except for his scientific and academic life, almost everything else about him or his past either couldn’t be verified or . . . or appeared to be totally false.”

The listening group exploded in agitation again, and Darro waited for them to quiet. “Copies of that investigative report will be distributed. Miss Sample, did Professor Vaslovik seem to be concerned over the things happening in the world?”

Allison hesitated, then nodded. “Yes. Very worried.”

A phone light on the table beside the podium began to flash. Phillips instantly picked it up and answered it in a low murmur.

“Could Vaslovik have dreamed of replacing the human race with something more efficient?” Darro asked.

“Mr. Darro, I . . . I can’t guess at what dreams might have been in Dr. Vaslovik’s mind.”

Phillips urgently waved Darro to the phone. As the project chief took the receiver, Allison turned to the audience again. “The thing I thought important to tell you was that soon after the android broke out, a man came to our archives. He seemed strange at first—incredibly formal—then he became rather charming. I found later he’d broken into all our files and no one could identify him, though he
said
he was part of the project. He said
his
name was Questor.”

She expected an uproar. Instead, the group fell quiet, stunned. Allison leaned forward, her voice low and earnest. “I realize now it was learning to deal with humans even while it was talking to me. I’m not saying it’s dangerous. But it learns very, very fast.”

Darro hung up the phone and came back to the podium. Allison stepped aside, sensing something wrong. Darro gripped the edges of the lectern so fiercely that it shook. “Ladies and gentlemen . . . I’ve just received word the android and Robinson were detained by British Immigration in London. No passports. They escaped from a locked room within minutes with almost ridiculous ease.”

Jerry was grateful for the protection of darkness as they slipped out of the air terminal. He had managed to exchange twenty-five dollars into pounds without drawing attention to himself. Then he and Questor joined a group crowding onto the airport shuttle bus into town. Once deposited at the bus terminal, he looked around at Questor.

“All right. Now where?”

“We are not in the city center?”

“No. Wait a minute. Do you mean the
exact
center of the city, or where things are happening? Uh . . . where people congregate.”

“Excellent, Mr. Robinson. You clarified your statement most precisely. I believe we should proceed toward the area where . . . things are happening.”

“We’ll be less noticeable in the underground then.”

Questor pondered briefly. “The underground is the subway system, also called the tube.”

“Now you’ve got it.”

“I’m sure I shall find it most interesting.”

They located the nearby underground entrance and descended the several flights of stairs with another group of commuters. Jerry studied the comprehensive map of the various lines and decided on the best route to Piccadilly Circus. He pointed out the stop on the map. “There ought to be plenty happening there.”

Questor frowned. “Entertainment by animals and other such acts will not aid my programmed imperative.”

“Questor, the word
circus
in this context doesn’t mean what you think. It’s difficult to explain exactly, but—” His voice was drowned out in the roar of the arriving subway train. Jerry quickly purchased tickets and guided Questor into one of the cars. Happily, the android was so fascinated by the sights, sounds, and smells of this new world that he did not pursue the matter of the word
circus.

They exited at the Piccadilly Circus stop and emerged into a throng of evening street people. Traffic flowed endlessly around the massive fountain that was topped by the graceful statue of Eros. The traditional blaze of neon signs on every building around the great circle seared the night sky and cast strange shadows. Young people clustered at the base of the fountain, playing guitars and flutes, singing their own kind of songs. On every inch of sidewalk, people jostled one another.