“We’re going to see this through,” he said, to no one in particular.” Somehow.”
They had come too far to give up now.
20
THERE WERE FOUR cells in the rear half of the constable’s offices, and it was perhaps somewhat overstating the case to call them “cells” at all. Holding pens might be closer to the mark, places to keep the town drunks until they sobered up enough to go home. They could keep a human in, but that was about all that could be said of them. Thin steel bars formed the enclosures, one set into each comer of the room, so that none of them shared any common walls. A cot, a blanket, a pillow, and a crude toilet in each cell were the only amenities.
Only one of the cells was empty at the moment. Jadelo Gildern was in one cell, pacing furiously back and forth. Norlan Fiyle was lounging on the cot in his cell, watching Gildern impassively.
And Caliban stood motionless in the far comer of his own cell, watching both of them. It had not taken long for him to learn that different humans responded differently to confinement. Unfortunately, the lesson had not been worth the trouble he had been to in order to learn it.
Fiyle was plainly quite used to it. He had learned the art of endless waiting, of resigning himself to his fate until such times as circumstances altered in his favor. Not so Gildern. The Ironhead security chief was a bundle of nerves, unable to keep himself still.
“I should not be in here!” he announced. “I didn’t even know Simcor had been kidnapped until they came and arrested me for it.”
“We know,” Fiyle said blandly. “The situation hasn’t changed since the last time you told us that, ten minutes ago.”
“I should be out there looking for him, not stuck in this damned cell!”
Justen Devray chose that moment to come in from the front room, and he had heard what Gildern had said. “Relax,” he said. “You’re probably doing him more good in there then you would be joining in the fun and games outside. There are upwards of a thousand robots looking for him by now. What could you do that they couldn’t?”
Plainly, Gildern had no good answer for that. “I should not be in here!” he protested. “I am innocent!”
“I agree,” said Devray. “At least innocent of kidnapping charges. There’s the question of fraudulently obtaining a weapon of mass destruction. We might have to look into that. Probably a few charges we could draw up on that and a few other items. But even if I, personally, think you have been framed, the fact remains that the frame fits awfully well. I don’t think you would have been so clumsy as to let me trace the ransom the way I did, but maybe I give you too much credit. Besides, the minute I let you go, the real kidnappers will know they should be back on their guard. You’ll stay put. We evacuate in the suborbital ship, six hours from now-two hours before impact. And then we put you all in much more comfortable cells-in Hades.”
“But-”
“Quiet, Gildern,” Fiyle said. “We’ve already heard it, whatever it is.”
“All of you, relax,” said Devray. “I have to go at least try and sort out some of the chaos out there. There are robots brainlocking left and right, and most of the humans who are still in town aren’t exactly calm and rational. I’ll be back to get all of you in plenty of time. Goodbye.”
And with that he turned and left the back room. They heard the outer door to the street close behind him a moment later.
“I guess we’re alone together,” said Fiyle with a soft chuckle. “Very nice. Gives us all a chance to get to know each other a bit better. Have a real conversation. Caliban, you’ve been awfully quiet over there in the corner.”
“I have nothing to say,” Caliban replied.
“That’s never stopped a human from talking,” said Fiyle.
“Who the hell did this thing?” Gildern demanded. “Was it the Settlers? Some gang of Settlers? Some crazy faction of ours trying to take over? Did Kresh see a chance to take out his main rival? Who did it and why?”
“The part I don’t get is the ransom message,” said Fiyle. “You make a political demand, or you ask for money. You don’t do both. They interfere with each other.”
“And why send the money to me?” Gildern said. “Who wants to discredit me enough to throwaway half a million in Trader credits? Why make a phony demand for money?”
“You know,” said Fiyle. “if the money demand was a fake, maybe the political demand was too. They asked for something pretty close to impossible. Maybe they chose something that couldn’t be done on purpose.”
“But why?” Gildern demanded.
“Misdirection. You won’t like to hear me say it, but maybe they always planned to kill Beddle. Maybe he’s already dead, and the kidnap and ransom business is just a way to throw Devray off the scent.”
“But who are ‘they’?” Caliban asked. “And even if there are many people who might have a motive for killing Beddle, why kill him in such a needlessly complicated way?”
Fiyle shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “But I saw the photo images from the crime scene, and one thing I can tell you-whoever it was, they didn’t like robots.”
Suddenly Caliban looked around sharply toward Fiyle. Something the human had just said had sent his thoughts racing. “What do you mean?” he asked sharply. “How could you tell the kidnapper didn’t like robots? Because he shot the ones on the aircar?”
“Because of the way he shot them.” Fiyle gestured with his right hand, put an imaginary gun to the back of his own head. “Right there. Five robots, four outside the aircar, one in the control cabin. Everyone of them, shot right there. All of them killed execution style. One close shot each, right to the back of the head. You don’t do it that way unless you enjoy your work, or hate the victim, or both.”
And suddenly Caliban knew. He knew. None of it was misdirection. None of it. Both ransom demands made perfect sense. And for this particular criminal, it was a matter of perfect indifference as to whether both or neither or either demand was met. This criminal would stand to gain no matter what. But there was one flaw. One thing that did not fit. “Fiyle! You’ve made a living off it long enough. How good is your memory?”
Fiyle sat up on the side of his cot, clearly aware of the new urgency in Caliban’s voice. “Very good,” he said. “Why?”
“I heard from Fredda Leving that the ransom message said to deliver the money and stop the comet or else they’d kill Beddle.”
“Right. That’s right. I saw it in the photos.”
“What was the wording. The exact wording?”
“What the devil difference does that make?” Gildern demanded.
“Be still!” Caliban half-shouted. “It matters. It might mean the difference between Beddle being alive or dead. Fiyle-what were the exact words?”
Fiyle was on his feet by now, standing by the bars of his cell. hands wrapped around the bars. He looked up toward the ceiling, and swallowed nervously. “The spelling was all wrong,” he said, “as if the writer had done it wrong on purpose so it would be hard to trace. But the words were-they were-’Stop comet,’ and then a plus sign instead of the word ‘and’ and then ‘put five hundred thousand’-the numerals for five hundred thousand, not the words-’TDC in PBI account’-and account was abbreviated ‘acct’-’18083-19109’-I think that was the account number. I might have a digit wrong, and it was in numerals too. Then the last line was ‘or Beddle will die.’ That’s all.”
Caliban felt a wave of shock and dismay wash over him. He had gotten it right-and he could imagine nothing more horrifying than his answer being right.
He had to get out of here. He had to act. It had to be him. No one else could prevent this disaster. He stepped forward to the steel bars and examined them for a moment. They appeared to be countersunk into the ceiling and the floor. He grabbed at two of them and pulled back, hard. Both bars popped loose, one from the ceiling, the other from the floor. The cells had been built to hold a human, not a robot who was no longer willing to remain of his own free will. He shoved himself through the gap in the bars and stepped into the center of the room.