The Stainless Steel Rat Joins the Circus

Chapter 24

We got out of the car and James was just locking it when we heard the grind of a starter, followed by the sound of a heavy engine turning over.

"That's Igor's truck," James said. "It was parked beside the house. What do we do-let it go and follow it?"

"No," I said. "Stop it. There is a good chance that Angelina is either in the truck or in the house. Igor will know one way or the other."

"But it might be dangerous.. ." Bolivar said, worried.

"My decision," I said. I heard the truck start forward and turn into the road. I stepped off the curb and held up my hand when it appeared.

I was so worried about Angelina that, for the moment, I had completely forgotten what I looked like. I was literally not myself. The scar still cut across the bruised and battered face of Iba. That was what Igor saw standing in the street before him. The effect was very dramatic.

I saw his mouth drop open, his face twisted in a mask of terror.

Then he dropped forward over the steering wheel and the truck continued, coming directly at me.

I dived and rolled, landing on the pavement at the boys' feet.

"Stop the truck!" I shouted. Wincing at the feel of new bruises on top of the old ones.

The out-of-control machine ground forward, driving right across the road and up the curb. Then it drove straight into the grove of trees beyond. Thick trunks splintered and bent-but did not break. They were immovable objects all right. But the truck was no irresistible force. The wheels spun, locked, the whole thing juddered until the engine gave out a large grating sound and died.

James reached it first, pulled the door open. Igor's limp body slid out, would have hit the ground headfirst if James hadn't grabbed him and broken his fall. I climbed over them and into the truck.

Angelina wasn't there. I looked through the window into the body of the truck. Empty.

"Get him on his side, tongue out of the way," Bolivar said. "That's it. Any pulse?"

"Yes. But very weak, rapid and irregular."

"Heart attack?" I asked.

James nodded and looked around. The few houses here were set back from the road. We were the only ones who had seen the accident.

"It looks pretty bad," I said. Igor had never done very well by me. But we just could not stand by and let him die. James said it just before I did.

"I don't want him to die on us. We better call an ambulance." He took out his phone.

"Do that," I said. "Then I think that you should either go with him to the hospital, or follow in the car. While you are doing that Bolivar and I will check out the house. If we don't find anything you will be with him when he regains consciousness. See if you can ask him a few pertinent questions then."

James was talking into the phone, then closed it. "On its way. I'm pretty sure that they will let me go with him. I'll claim to be a relative. I'll keep you informed of what is happening."

"Let's think about that," Bolivar said. "Maybe it would be better if I called you. If we are doing any breaking and entering it would not be that wise to have a phone ringing at the same time. I don't want the phone sounding off while we are snooping around and possibly getting into the building."

"We'll do it that way. Go through the house-and call me the instant you find out anything."

I could hear sirens in the distance as we went into the grove of trees that bordered the house on two sides. We kept under their cover as we worked around to the back. As we went we could see inside the building, through all of the windows; none of them were covered. The penthouse was almost completely made of glass and we could look right through that as well.

"I'll check the other side of the house," Bolivar said. "Best for you to wait here for me."

He was gone before I could answer. Slipping around the large swimming pool. I stayed under the trees, watching the house. Nothing moved inside. There was a large two-car garage to the rear of the property. Locked, but that did not slow me down. But the only form of transport inside was an ancient moped with a flat tire. The floor was a solid slab of oil-stained cement. It sounded quite solid when I kicked it. I went back outside and within a minute Bolivar had returned, shaking his head. "None of the windows are covered. I think that your theory of a concealed underground room is very much in order. Do we go in?"

"Call James first. They should be in the hospital by now. If they are not, surely the paramedic will have sent all the vital signals of the patient to the hospital. So by now he will know what has happened."

Bolivar turned on the external speaker and phoned. "Uncle Tom here. We are all so worried."

"With good reason, Tom. Igor collapsed and had a massive heart attack. He has had an acute posterior myocardial infarction, a major one. It knocked out a good deal of the right ventricle. He is responding to the emergency treatment and the consultants are talking about bypass surgery as soon as we reach the hospital. How is your house hunting going? "

"It's a fine house with a fine view from every window. We're going inside now."

"We must keep in touch. "

"We shall indeed."

"Poor Igor," I said. "I know I don't look great, but not enough to give someone a coronary."

"Unless they had a guilty conscience-and had something to do with the disappearance of the original Iba."

"That's a thought. And a particularly nasty one. If Igor was involved with that he must have thought that he was seeing a ghost-or his victim roused from the dead. Now-any idea how we should proceed?"

"How about ringing the bell? If there is no answer we let ourselves in."

"Good thinking, my son. That's just what we shall do. There is nothing more to be seen outside."

We could hear the chimes go bing-bong somewhere deep in the house. The lens of a security camera projected from the door frame: I stood to one side, hopefully out of its range. I had caused one heart attack today. That was enough. I heard the door open.

"How may I serve you?" a refined and cultured voice said.

"I am here to see Imperetrix Von Kaiser-Czarski," Bolivar said.

"I deeply regret to inform you that my master is not at home. Might I take a message?"

"I'll give you a message," I said, stepping into view.

It surely was a fine-looking robot. Taller than I was and made of highly burnished steel. Its eye facets appeared to be large and beautifully cut diamonds. And it was wearing white gloves. It looked me up and down with a most superior robotic air.

"And what, if I may be so bold to ask, is your message, sir?"

"It is a very simple one. Step aside. We are coming into the house." I started forward and was stopped firmly by a steel hand in a white glove.

"I have strict orders not to permit that. You will leave now."

"I will not leave and you cannot stop me."

I stepped forward and the robot removed its hand. Made a hard fist and hit me in the jaw with a right cross.

"The Laws of Robotics!" I shouted, holding on to my sore jaw. "A robot cannot harm a human being."

"You are not human. You're a disguised alien life-form." It said. Bolivar put his foot between the door and the frame so it could not be closed. The robot stamped hard on his foot. Then slammed the door shut when he jumped back.

"Ouch!" he cried, hopping about on his uninjured foot.

"Ouch indeed," I agreed, rubbing my aching jaw. "I'm not sure that I like that robot."

With this I pulled out the molecular debinder. Turned it on and cut a quick circle around the lock. Which dropped out and fell onto the welcome mat. We went in. The robot, which had been walking away, turned back.

"Entrance is prohibited. And you have caused an injury to this dwelling. I shall communicate with the police."

"We are the police," I shouted. "Officer, show this thing your badge."

Bolivar flashed the brilliant, but fake, ruby-set golden badge that he always carried.

"We had reports of a rogue robot at this address. We're taking you in."

"I am forbidden to leave these premises. Depart at once."

"The law takes precedence. You struck me and you must be aware that it is a terrible crime to strike a human being. You are under arrest."

"I am aware of the law. But you are not a human being."

"You can see that I am! Just as you can also see that you are a construct-which indicates a constructor. You were made by humans-and you can also see that I am a human. Therefore I am a member of the human race who constructed you. And . a construct must always obey the orders of the constructor." I shook my head. Not really believing that I was having a teleological argument with a robot.

"I can see that you are not. My master has instructed me that all the humans on this planet are imposters. Aliens in disguise. He has also told me and identified who the few real humans are in this city. You are not listed among their number. Therefore you must leave. If you do not leave I have orders to demolish all alien life-forms."

It started forward and Bolivar moved quickly aside so we were equidistant from the thing. The robot hesitated, caught in a feedback loop, unable to figure out which of us to tackle first. "You must leave. Entrance forbidden to nonhuman humans. Death will follow quickly."

I walked around it which had the unhappy result of breaking the feedback. "You must both leave." It turned and grabbed at me. "Strangers not permitted to enter the house. You have entered farthest so you will be made to leave first or be deconstructed." It sounded pleased by this piece of specious logic as it seized me in an unbreakable grip.

Bolivar ran past us and shouted, "I am farthest into the house-I must be made to leave first."

"Farthest must be made to leave first," it said creakily. Then it let go of my arm and made a grab for Bolivar. I ran in the opposite direction, shouting. "I'm farthest-you must make me leave first."

It had Bolivar by the arm now, but its head was twisted around to look at me.

"Farthest!" I called back. It made a strange grating sound and I hoped that it had blown its logic circuits. It seemed to have forgotten Bolivar when it came after me-pulling him along by the arm.

"Hey!" Bolivar shouted, trying to shake the thing loose. Then it had me by the arm as well. The time for argument was past. I had no desire to be deconstructed. I took out the molecular debinder and held it up.

"Do you know what this is?" I asked, waving the device before its diamond eyes.

"I do."

"Then you had better remember the rest of the robotic laws. You must prevent injury to yourself. Let go at once or I will cut your arms off. It's hard for an armless robot to get work these days."

It uttered the grating sound again and its hands opened. It stood stock-still as a trickle of smoke rose from its head.

"Great work, Dad. You sure do know how to win a debating contest. Particularly a robotic one. Now let's see what we can find."

Which was very little. We searched the rooms, one by one, but they were all empty. Bolivar checked all the closets, while I climbed the steps to look into the penthouse rooms. Nothing.

"And nothing that looks like a door or an opening anywhere down here. Not even in the wine-cellar room."

"The robot would know."

"It would if it hadn't blown a fuse or something."

I kicked the floor. It felt solid.

"There is one place that we didn't look," Bolivar said. "The enclosure by the pool with the heater and filter."

I was opening the sliding door to the pool before he finished speaking. But other than the pool equipment the enclosure was empty. And built on a solid slab.

"It has to be in the house," I said. "We are missing something I'm sure. I want to go over every square centimeter of the floor."

We did it room by room. Moving furniture, kicking aside rugs, even tried shifting the refrigerator. Still nothing.

"Last room," Bolivar said in a worried voice, looking in the door. "The master bedroom."

We tested the en suite bathroom first. All of the plumbing was solidly fixed into place. All of the units were sealed to the walls and floor. In the bedroom the floor was made of wood, close-fitting and burnished planks. Solid. The bed was centered in the middle of the sizable room. I sat down heavily on it; fatigue and structural damage were taking their toll. I dropped my head on my hands. So weary.

Something. What?

Slight scratches in the wood by the leg of the bed.

"Aha!" I aha-d, dropping to my knees and sighting along the scratches.

"Dad! What's wrong?"

"What's right is the answer. See them, the scratches on the floor by the legs of the bed? As though the bed had been moved aside-like this!"

I pushed hard on the bed in the direction of the scratches.

Nothing happened.

At first.

Then I heard a metallic click and the resistance stopped. I fell forward on my face as the bed moved smoothly across the room. And there, scant inches from my nose, was an inset handle. We both reached for it at the same time. Youth won and Bolivar grabbed it, turned and lifted. It was as thick as a bank vault door, but counterweighted so it opened smoothly.

Light streamed up from the opening in the floor as we looked in.

Angelina looked back and smiled.

"Now that is what I call a beautiful sight," she said.