common way of . . . ?”
Jerry grabbed the wallet and cards out of his hands and stuffed them back into his jacket pocket. “ I have had it! With Darro . . . with you. Jerry Robinson is finished being pushed around by humans or machines!” He slapped his hand on the car-door handle. “Now, I’m going to open this door and leave. You can knock me unconscious, but keep in mind that you can’t get on an airplane carrying me. From now on, you’re on your own!”
He opened the car door; but as he started to get out, Questor’s arm shot across his chest. He was pressed gently but firmly back into his seat. Questor’s face remained blank as Jerry glared at him. Why couldn’t he understand what went on behind those expressionless eyes?
“My imperative will not allow me to release you, Mr. Robinson. Your subsequent actions could prevent me from finding my creator.”
“What are you going to do then? Kill me?”
“Thank you,” Questor said flatly. “That is the logical alternative.”
Jerry felt his heartbeat thundering at a reckless speed, but he remained still, staring steadily at Questor. The android stared back. Then Questor dropped his arm.
“Strange. I find it impossible. I must endeavor to continue alone.”
Jerry promptly got out, slamming the car door after him. He hunched his shoulders against the damp, chilly air that always seemed to hang over the airport at night, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and started to walk away. He took five steps before he hesitated, took another, then stopped. This should be easy. Why couldn’t he just walk away? Darro would find the android, even if it got as far as London, which he doubted it could. But something made him go back to the open car window where Questor sat, unmoving.
Jerry leaned in. “Look, I can almost understand what’s driving you. We humans . . . we spend a lot of our lives sort of seeking our creator, too. But you can’t abduct people, commit immoral acts in doing it.”
The android looked at him innocently. “Humans do not commit immoral actions in seeking their creator?”
Jerry looked away, shaken by the question. How could anyone answer that—honestly? He decided it was safer to divert the android for now and try to figure out a reply later. “Look, you can’t make it alone! You’ll give yourself away, there’ll be panic, probably bullets. You’re too valuable to be damaged or destroyed. And innocent people could be hurt.”
“Then it seems most logical to me that you come with me, protect me, guide me in areas of morality. I will accede to any request which does not violate my programmed imperative.”
“I’d like to believe that,” Jerry sighed.
“You forget I am merely an ambulatory computer device, Mr. Robinson. I would find any deception quite difficult.”
Jerry shot a suspicious look at Questor as the android evenly repeated that he was merely an ambulatory computer device. Was he? He was capable of so much more than even Jerry thought he had been programmed for. Could he lie, too? Was he lying now? Questor returned Jerry’s look with his now-familiar calm innocence. Only after they were actually on the plane and airborne did Jerry realize that he had stopped thinking of Questor as “it” and had begun to regard him as a man.
Lydia Parker brought a tray of discarded glasses and empty miniature liquor bottles back to the galley in the waist of the 747. Her fellow stewardess in coach, Jean Klein, glanced around at her as she began to stow the plastic glasses. “Getting along all right?”
Lydia smiled. “So far, my first transatlantic flight is a cinch.”
“Night flights usually are. Light load, and most of the passengers try to sleep.”
Lydia nodded and straightened up. “I’ve got two who look like they’re playing owl. One of them’s reading everything onboard.”
Jean peeked around the galley entrance. “Which?”
“Fifty-nine A and B. Can you see them?”
The long rows of high-backed seats
Jerry grabbed the wallet and cards out of his hands and stuffed them back into his jacket pocket. “ I have had it! With Darro . . . with you. Jerry Robinson is finished being pushed around by humans or machines!” He slapped his hand on the car-door handle. “Now, I’m going to open this door and leave. You can knock me unconscious, but keep in mind that you can’t get on an airplane carrying me. From now on, you’re on your own!”
He opened the car door; but as he started to get out, Questor’s arm shot across his chest. He was pressed gently but firmly back into his seat. Questor’s face remained blank as Jerry glared at him. Why couldn’t he understand what went on behind those expressionless eyes?
“My imperative will not allow me to release you, Mr. Robinson. Your subsequent actions could prevent me from finding my creator.”
“What are you going to do then? Kill me?”
“Thank you,” Questor said flatly. “That is the logical alternative.”
Jerry felt his heartbeat thundering at a reckless speed, but he remained still, staring steadily at Questor. The android stared back. Then Questor dropped his arm.
“Strange. I find it impossible. I must endeavor to continue alone.”
Jerry promptly got out, slamming the car door after him. He hunched his shoulders against the damp, chilly air that always seemed to hang over the airport at night, stuffed his hands into his pockets, and started to walk away. He took five steps before he hesitated, took another, then stopped. This should be easy. Why couldn’t he just walk away? Darro would find the android, even if it got as far as London, which he doubted it could. But something made him go back to the open car window where Questor sat, unmoving.
Jerry leaned in. “Look, I can almost understand what’s driving you. We humans . . . we spend a lot of our lives sort of seeking our creator, too. But you can’t abduct people, commit immoral acts in doing it.”
The android looked at him innocently. “Humans do not commit immoral actions in seeking their creator?”
Jerry looked away, shaken by the question. How could anyone answer that—honestly? He decided it was safer to divert the android for now and try to figure out a reply later. “Look, you can’t make it alone! You’ll give yourself away, there’ll be panic, probably bullets. You’re too valuable to be damaged or destroyed. And innocent people could be hurt.”
“Then it seems most logical to me that you come with me, protect me, guide me in areas of morality. I will accede to any request which does not violate my programmed imperative.”
“I’d like to believe that,” Jerry sighed.
“You forget I am merely an ambulatory computer device, Mr. Robinson. I would find any deception quite difficult.”
Jerry shot a suspicious look at Questor as the android evenly repeated that he was merely an ambulatory computer device. Was he? He was capable of so much more than even Jerry thought he had been programmed for. Could he lie, too? Was he lying now? Questor returned Jerry’s look with his now-familiar calm innocence. Only after they were actually on the plane and airborne did Jerry realize that he had stopped thinking of Questor as “it” and had begun to regard him as a man.
Lydia Parker brought a tray of discarded glasses and empty miniature liquor bottles back to the galley in the waist of the 747. Her fellow stewardess in coach, Jean Klein, glanced around at her as she began to stow the plastic glasses. “Getting along all right?”
Lydia smiled. “So far, my first transatlantic flight is a cinch.”
“Night flights usually are. Light load, and most of the passengers try to sleep.”
Lydia nodded and straightened up. “I’ve got two who look like they’re playing owl. One of them’s reading everything onboard.”
Jean peeked around the galley entrance. “Which?”
“Fifty-nine A and B. Can you see them?”
The long rows of high-backed seats
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