Caliban

“Hello, Dr. Leving,” Donald said. “It’s good to see you again, though I doubt you care for the circumstances any more than I do.”

“Hello, Donald. I quite agree, on both points.” Fredda looked at the robot thoughtfully. It was rare for a robot to put itself so far forward as to begin a conversation, but then the circumstances were unusual. Robots rarely knew their creators personally, and it was more ~are still for a robot to visit its creator in a hospital room after that creator had had a close brush with death. No doubt it was all rather stressful for Donald, and no doubt his forwardness could be explained as a minor side effect of the release of First Law conflicts. Or, to put it in more pedestrian terms, he had spoken out of turn because he was glad to see her recovering.

Whatever the explanation for it, it was plain that the exchange annoyed Sheriff Kresh. The norms of polite society required that robots be ignored. Fredda winced. It was not smart to start the interview by irritating Kresh.

On the other hand, there was one fact about Donald that she dared not ignore: He was a walking lie detector. As if she needed any further reason to be careful.

But be all that as it may. It would be for the best to get this over with as quickly as possible. She turned toward Kresh and gave him her warmest smile. “Welcome, Sheriff,” she said in as gracious a tone as she could manage. “Please do have a seat.”

“Thank you,” he said, drawing up a chair by the foot of her bed.

“I expect you’re here to ask me some questions,” she said in what she hoped to be a calm, steady voice, “but I have a feeling you have more answers than I do. I honestly have no idea what happened. I was working in the lab, and then I woke up here.”

“You have no memory of the attack itself?”

“Then therewas an attack on me. Up until you said that, I wasn’t even sure of that. No, I don’t recall anything.”

Kresh sighed unhappily. “I was afraid of that. The med-robots warned me that traumatic amnesia was a possibility and that the loss may be permanent.”

Fredda was startled, alarmed. “You mean my mind is going? I’m losing my memory?”

“Oh, no, no, nothing like that. They warned me that it would be possible that you would have no recollection of the attack. There was some hope that you might recall something, but-you don’t remember anything at all?” he asked, clearly disappointed.

Fredda hesitated a moment and then decided it would be wise to be as forthcoming as possible. Things could get sticky down the road, and it might do her some good later if she played straight now. “No, nothing meaningful. I have a hazy recollection of lying on the floor, looking straight ahead, and seeing a pair of red feet. But I can’t say if that was a dream, or hallucination, or real.”

Kresh leaned forward eagerly. “Red feet. Can you describe them more completely? Were they wearing red shoes, or red socks, or-”

“No, no, they were definitely feet, not shoes or boots or socks. Robot’s feet, metallic red. That’s what I saw-if I did see it. As I said, it could have been all a hallucination.”

“Why in the world would you hallucinate about red robot feet?” Kresh asked in that same eager tone. It was almost too clear that the red feet interested him very much indeed.

Fredda took a good hard look at Kresh. She got the distinct feeling that this man wouldn’t be so obvious about what he wanted to know if he weren’t so plainly exhausted.

“There was a red robot in the lab,” she said.No point in hiding that fact, she thought.It was bound to come out, if it hadn’t already. “It was in a standing position in a work rack. Well, you must have seen the robot there.” She thought for a moment and then shook her head. “I’m afraid there’s not much else I recall.”

“Try, please.”

Fredda shrugged and frowned. She tried to think back to that night, but it was all a jumbled fog. “I can’t seem to get that night very clear. I seem to recall standing in the room, leaning over one of the worktables, reading over some notes-but I can’t recall notes of what, and I can’t tell you how long before the attack that was. As I say, nothing is very clear. Maybe I’m even subconsciously inventing my memories, reaching for something that’s not there. I can’t know-and before you can even suggest it, I’m certainly not going to submit to any form of the Psychic Probe to clear up the uncertainty.”

Kresh smiled faintly. “I admit the idea had crossed my mind. But we should certainly pursue all the less drastic alternatives first. Perhaps we can jog your memory. These notes of your show were they stored? A paper notebook? A computer pad? What?”

“Oh, a very standard computer pad, with a blue floral pattern on the back cover.”

“I see. Madame Leving, I’m afraid there was no sign either of your computer pad or a red robot. The work rack was empty when we got there. And I assure you, we searched carefully.”