The Questor Tapes by D. C. Fontana Read Free Book Online

man spoke quietly, in a curiously flat, expressionless voice.
    “Mr. Robinson, I mean you no harm. I must speak with you.”
    Jerry stared up at the stranger and nodded. He had no other choice: he was almost smothering. The man promptly removed his hand and Jerry took a deep gulp of air. When his breathing steadied a little, he demanded, “Who are you?”
    “I am Questor.”
    Jerry looked up again, puzzled for a moment. The stranger moved aside slightly, and Jerry caught sight of the iron grillwork that had been wrenched away. Then it sank in. There was only one . . . thing . . . that could have bent those bars so radically and so silently. The stranger— it —regarded him calmly. Jerry tried to make a break for the door, but Questor’s arm shot out and firmly held him where he was.
    “Please do not call out, Mr. Robinson,” Questor said reasonably. “I am programmed to prevent that if necessary.”
    Jerry subsided, again, having no choice. He knew that the android could break his arm twice as easily as it had bent the grillwork. Jerry had built the thing, after all. He tried to think, organize a plan, but all he could see was this creature standing over him—a creature that looked, simply, like a man in his early thirties. The hair, the brows, the skin texture, had all been done with great finesse. Studying the android now, Jerry realized that it must have followed the cosmetology instructions to the last detail. He should have recognized Questor immediately, but he had been accustomed to thinking of it as the smooth, hairless piece of machinery he had constructed.
    That was it.
    “If you know my name, you must understand. I am the human who put you together.”
    “I do understand that.”
    Jerry scrambled off the bed and backed away from Questor. His voice shook slightly as the android followed him step for step. “You must obey my instructions. You hear me? I am ordering you to—”
    The door lock clicked abruptly and the guard came in, machine gun in hand. “I thought I heard . . .” His eyes swept the scene: the warped grillwork bars, the stranger confronting an apparently intimidated Robinson. He started to turn the gun on the intruder.
    Questor moved faster. He recognized the guard and the gun as dangers as soon as the door opened. He grabbed the barrel of the machine gun with his left hand and squeezed. At the same second, with his right hand he touched a spot just behind the man’s ear. The guard collapsed like a deflated balloon.
    Jerry bent over the man as Questor quietly closed the door. He was relieved to find that the guard was only unconscious. The pulse and heartbeat were strong. Jerry looked up as Questor spoke in that curious monotone.
    “My university tape programming was most helpful, Mr. Robinson.” He gestured toward the guard. “The human anatomy information allowed me to select a nerve which will keep him unconscious for approximately one hour.”
    “Naturally you don’t have that vulnerability,” Jerry said shakily.
    “You are well aware of that, Mr. Robinson. As you pointed out, you constructed me.”
    Jerry pulled himself together and controlled his voice. “Right. And, as I also pointed out, you have to obey me. I am ordering you to return to the laboratory!”
    “I am grateful for your advice, but I must leave immediately for a metropolitan complex known as London.” His hand descended to Jerry’s shoulder. “And it is essential that you accompany me.”
    Jerry felt the tremendous strength of the android’s fingers pressed into his shoulder, though Questor was obviously careful not to hurt him. But all he could do was stare at the machine gun, which had fallen beside the guard. The barrel was flattened and bent into a right angle. And the hand resting on his shoulder had done it.

6
    J erry Robinson drove the freeway’s slowest lane, heading west on the Golden State, merging into the Ventura Freeway, maintaining a speed of fifty. The android seated beside him