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battery for power supply that will give my fingers a berserker's strength, and maybe enough heat to melt
through steel, for just a handful of seconds. And then there is what my cousin, who knows all about this
stuff, calls the shotgun.
See, by turning my gaze to the proper section of my icon, which is a little glowing skull that I can always
see, and controlling my thought-images, I can activate any or all of these destructive powers. Not too
hard a trick for a spacer to learn, not for someone who's had some years of practice in controlling ships'
systems in much the same way.
It also seems appropriate, don't you think, that the limb I lost by Nifty's treachery is the same one I'm
going to use to pull his guts out?
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In response to Jory's questions, Trask tried to explain the world in which his family lived. Even the most
traditional clan members admitted that in special situations, including wartime, almost any kind of weapon
would do. The code was flexible enough to allow for that. In a real emergency, any means, however
untraditional, could be used to punish treachery. The worst thing would be simply to allow it to go
unpunished.
The journalist in Jory wanted to ask him if he had ever been involved personally in any such death feud.
But the expression on the young man's face suggested that the answer might not be one she wanted to
hear, and she moved on to say something else.
Traskeluk and Jory reached Nash's house around noon, within a few hours of their first phone
conversation.
Approaching the front door down a curving walk, they could hear from around back the waterfall sound
of what was doubtless a very fancy swimming pool.
The house sensed their approach to the front door, and the butler met them there. Only a machine. Two
machines, because in the nearest room an active holostage was playing, showing a news program.
"Mr. Nash sent me," Jory informed the butler.
There was a noticeable pause before it said: "Yes, madam."
Sometimes, thought Traskeluk, the fancier they make these machines, the less reliably they work.
In its right hand the metal butler supported a tray, near shoulder level, as if it might be about to serve a
round of drinks. But at the moment there was no burden at all upon the tray that was being held in such a
perfectly level plane. Trask assumed that somewhere in the thing's programming a fairly high priority must
have been assigned to the act of carrying a tray about.
Why, Trask wondered, would a robot watch news programs on a holostage?
One reason might be that someone had commissioned it to find out something that was going to be
mentioned on the news. But as a rule it was perfectly easy to call up any kind of news program for
yourself, wherever you were.
He let the mystery drop for the moment.
On impulse, Trask took a chance and asked the robot if a man called Spacer Sebastian Gift had been
here.
Burymore protested demurely that his programming did not allow him to record personal conversations
Unless instructed. Therefore, he had no record of the names of people who had been here in the past.
"Could you give me then: personal descriptions, then?"
"I regret, sir, that is not possible in the absence of my employer, whose approval would be necessary."
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The gist of what the robot was willing to admit on the subject appeared to be that three people, one of
whom might have been Nifty Gift, had indeed departed this house days ago or possibly only hours ago.
It seemed impossible to learn from Burymore whether Gift was expected back, or when.
"Then whenever this recent departure was, exactly," Jory summarized, "it involved three people. A fourth
stayed behind." This was not a question, and so it was not answered. She pursued. "Where is this person
who stayed behind?"
The robot seemed to be thinking the question over.
Traskeluk prodded it. "You're not counting yourself as a person, I hope."
For once the reply was prompt and definite. "No, I am not." Jory's turn again. "Well then, where is he,
or she? Is there anyone here or not?"
"Now you are here, ma'am. And you, sir. Otherwise not." The two humans exchanged looks, signaling
their mutual willingness to give up.
TWENTY-SIX
The butler stood back and with a sweeping gesture admitted the pair of visitors to the house. Well, a
household robot wearing human clothing. Trask had lately been developing some definite feelings about
machinery, and in his opinion it was just too much to dress up a machine like some kind of goddamned
doll. The robot had, of course, a human shape to fit those clothes, and it also walked on two legs like a
Solarian human. Slightly taller than the average man, so that the dark lens-eyes were noticeably angled
downward at Traskeluk when he stood before it. The facial features were only suggested by curved
metal of a neutral color. They were immobile, except for the eyes, where recessed lenses could be seen
to move. Straight nose, gently smiling lips that did not change their position when the well-modulated
voice came out.
After it had allowed the couple in, and had seen to it that the front door was closed again, it turned and
walked away down a broad and sunny hall, leaving the visitors uncertain as to whether they were
presently going to be welcomed by a human being or not. From the back, and from a distance, you might
easily be fooled into thinking the thing in human garments was a man.
Except that it had no hair, the top of its head had been sculpted into a smooth curve of dark brown,
suggesting hair of medium length combed neatly back.
But the most immediately noticeable thing about the almost humanoid machine, when viewed from the
back, was that it wore an enigmatic, hand-lettered placard: MY NAME is BURYMORE.
Traskeluk stared.Burymore ?
Jory frowned in concentration, ferocious but brief. Evidently as intrigued as Trask was, she called after
the machine. "Wait a moment. Shouldn't your name be spelled 'B-a-r-r-y-m-o-r-e'? With ana and two
r's ? At least I seem to recall that there was once a famous fictional butler of that name."
And Jory was trying to remember if her boss had said anything about having acquired a robot butler. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]