“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 there was 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.”
Fredda’s mouth fell open, and suddenly she felt dizzy. She had feared that the police might have discovered just what sort of robot Caliban was. That would have been trouble enough. But it had never occurred to her that Caliban might be gone. The devil help them all if some madman had switched him on and Caliban was wandering around loose.
“I’m stunned,” she said quite truthfully. “I simply don’t know what to say. At least now I know why I was attacked. Up until now, I could see no reason for it.”
“And what reason do you see now?” Kresh asked.
“Why, robbery, of course! They stole my robot!”
An expression of surprise flickered across Kresh’s face, and suddenly Fredda was flatly certain that the idea of a simple theft had never crossed his mind. “Why, yes, yes of course,” Kresh replied.
But he was interested in the fact that I saw red robot feet, Fredda thought. He knew that there had been a red robot there, and knew it was gone. Suddenly it dawned on her. Kresh had reason to believe that Caliban had left her lab under his own power. Galaxy! Had someone in her own lab been lunatic enough to switch him on? But she needed time to think. Maybe she could get Kresh to chase in other directions for a while. After all, she was merely guessing that Caliban had gone off on his own. “Space alone knows why anyone would want to steal a testbed robot,” she said. “All I can think is that this is some extreme case of industrial espionage. Some rival lab—or more likely, some third party hired by another lab—must have stolen my robot and my notes.”
“Who might that be?” Kresh asked. “What lab would be likely to operate that way?”
Fredda shrugged helplessly, and paid for the gesture with a fresh spasm of pain. But the pain itself was useful. The more obvious it was that she was in difficulty, the less likely Kresh was to keep the interview going. She had been trying to hold back her reaction to pain, but now she let it all out. It was not acting—the pain was real, the pain was there. But what point in a show of fortitude that merely made her own situation more difficult? She let out a gasp and grabbed the bedclothes with knotted fingers. There was a strange relief in letting go, in allowing the pain to come out, rather than be bottled up.
But Kresh had asked a question about the rival labs, and he was waiting for an answer. “I have no idea who would use such tactics. Obviously someone made off with my notes and my robot, but it strikes me as a very strange and pointless crime. After all, surely anyone who stole my work would know I would have backups, proof that the work was mine, the ability to reproduce my work. Someone did it. Just don’t ask me why.”
“It’s possible that they merely wished to slow you down, delay you long enough to let their own people catch up—with the added advantage of having your work in front of them.”
“I suppose that could be, but we’re building quite a rickety tower of supposition here.”
Kresh smiled, a bit thinly. And yet there was real warmth behind that expression. The man was sincerely interested and concerned. “You’re right, of course. The trouble is, we have very little information to guide the investigation. Is there nothing else you can tell us?”
She shook her head. “Nothing I can think of.”
“Very well,” Kresh said, standing up. “I’m sure we’ll need to talk later, but you need your rest.”
“Yes. I have to be at my best to make my presentation tomorrow night.”
Alvar Kresh looked at Fredda in obvious surprise. “Presentation?”
“I’m sorry, I assumed you knew. My lab is to make a major announcement tomorrow night. I’m afraid that I am not permitted to discuss it until then, but—”
“Ah, of course. Yes, we’ve been running into all sorts of people telling us that they couldn’t talk yet, that we would have to wait for a public announcement. No one told us you were to make it. I find it surprising that they were all confident that you would be well enough to do so.”
“Jomaine Terach would have given the talk if I could not, or if not Jomaine, Gubber Anshaw or someone else. If no one told you I was going to give the talk, I suspect it was because they knew the announcement would be made, but not who would give it.” Fredda thought for a minute. “If I was attacked to prevent the talk from being given, then it would only make sense to keep the name of my replacement presenter secret. If I were the replacement, I’d see a low profile as a good idea.”