Callahan's Place 09 - Callahan's Con (v5.0) by Spider Robinson Page A

pulse.”
    “Yeah, so?”   I grasped the distinction, and from my limited acquaintance with the Field Inspector, agreed with Erin’s analysis…but I still didn’t see how this helped our cause.   I suspected caffeine deficiency, and signaled Long-Drink to send a St. Bernard.
    Zoey seemed to get it, though.   “Is that true, Jake?” she asked.
    “Yeah, she’s Mr. Spock without the charm, all right.   So what.   Why is this good for the Jews?”
    “Don’t you grok, Daddy?   From everything I’ve been able to learn about her, she’s a cyborg.   And cyborgs always follow their programming.   They have to.”
    “Sure.   And she’s programmed like a Saberhagen Berserker…or an Ebola virus molecule.”
    “She’s not an assassin, Daddy, she’s a bureaucrat.   They live and die by rules.   By the rules.   If we are very lucky, if she’s as genuine and as hardcore as we think she is, it just won’t be possible for her to break the rules, any more than an Asimov robot could punch somebody.”
    Alf arrived with the drinks cart; I thanked him, gave him a quick scratch around the base of the horns (who doesn’t enjoy that, eh?), and traded Zoey’s empty for the new coffee.   It was Tanzanian Peaberry, roasted by Bean Around The World up in British Columbia, the mere scent of which always kickstarts my cortex.   Sure enough, after only one sip—okay, gulp—I saw with crystal clarity that I was still confused.
    Zoey saw it too.   “Jake, take it from the top.”
    “Okay.   Ludnyola wants to take our kid away and put her in hell.   Using the goddam rules.”   More coffee.   It was literally priceless then.   No Tanzanian coffee was sold anywhere in the world that year, because all the Tanzanians who were supposed to harvest the coffee either were butchered, or starved to death.   The only way to get any was to have a teleport who loved you in your family.
    “What is her thesis?” Zoey prompted.
    “We’re shitty parents.”  
    “And her proof of this is that we…”
    Light finally dawned.   “ Ah .”
    “…that you did a shitty job of educating me,” Erin supplied.   “And you didn’t .”
    “We didn’t do a damn thing!” I felt obliged to point out, though I was already beginning to see what she meant.
    “Exactly.   You stayed out of my way.   How may universities have that much sense?   It was a terrific education.”
    “— and we can prove it ,” Zoey said.  
    “Exactly,” Erin agreed.   “If she has any doubts after ten minutes of conversation, let her give me the Mensa test!   Or any other test she’s capable of comprehending herself—I’ve got more IQ points on her than she weighs , Daddy.”
    I wanted to agree with them and cheer up, I just couldn’t seem to work it up.   “And you think if we just prove to her that she’s wrong, she’ll go away?”
    She sighed.   “Well, like I said, I’m afraid to trust it.   But if she’s a genuine bureaucrat—”
    “I don’t know,” I said, finishing my coffee.   “I think you may be underestimating the ability of even the most robotic bureaucrat to interpret the rules.   Remember, she’s related by blood to Beelzebub.”
    “That’s the question,” Erin agreed.   “How important is family to a robot?   Cousin Jorjhk, back on Long Island, was as corrupt, venal and nepotistic as any other public official on Long Island: one glance at his record will tell you that.   But Ludnyola here comes across as…well, as a laser beam.   Straighter than any straight arrow.   I think she got into this because she believed what her relatives told her, and what she saw yesterday didn’t help: she thinks we’re all some kind of cult of anarchists and hippies.”
    “We’re not?” I said, and Zoey pinched me.   Never mind where.   By the poolside, okay?
    “She’ll never understand us much better than that; she’s not equipped.   But we don’t need her to.   If I’m reading her right, the only thing