Unwise Child by Randall Garrett (world best books to read TXT) 📗

that Snookums tore out those switches. He’s admitted it. And the evidence shows that a pair of waldo hands smashed those switches. Now—how could Snookums have been at my door within two seconds after tearing out those switches?

“He couldn’t have. It wasn’t Snookums at my door—it was someone else.”

Again they were all silent, but the question was on their faces: Who?

“Now we come to the question of motive,” Mike continued. “Who among you would have any reason to kill me?

“Of the whole group here, I had known only Captain Quill and Commander Jeffers before landing in Antarctica. I couldn’t think of any reason for either of them to want to murder me. On the other hand, I couldn’t think of anything I had done since I had met the rest of you that would make me a target for death.” He paused. “Except for one thing.” He looked at Jakob von Liegnitz.

“How about it, Jake?” he said. “Would you kill a man for jealousy?”

“Possibly,” said von Liegnitz coldly. “I might find it in my heart to feel very unkindly toward a man who made advances toward my wife. But I have no wife, nor any desire for one. Miss Crannon”—he glanced at Leda—“is a [203] very beautiful woman—but I am not in love with her. I am afraid I cannot oblige you with a motive, Commander—either for killing Lieutenant Mellon or yourself.”

“I thought not,” Mike said. “Your statement alone, of course, wouldn’t make it true. But we have already shown that the killer had to be on good terms with Mellon in order to borrow his books and slip a drug into his wine. He would have to be a visitor in Mellon’s quarters. And, considering the strained relations between the two of you, I think that lets you out, Jake.”

Von Liegnitz nodded his thanks without changing his expression.

“But there was one thing that marked these attempts. I’m sure that all but one of you has noticed it. They are incredibly, childishly sloppy.” Mike paused to let that sink in before he went on. “I don’t mean that the little details weren’t ingenious—they were. But the killer never stopped to figure out the ultimate end-point of his schemes. He worked like the very devil to convince Snookums that it would be all right to kill me without ever once considering whether Snookums would do it or not. He then drugged Mellon’s wine, not knowing whether Mellon would try to kill me or someone else—or anyone at all, for that matter. He got a dream in his head and then started the preliminary steps going without filling in the necessary steps in between. Our killer—no matter what his chronological age—does not think like an adult.

“And yet his hatred of me was so great that he took the chances he has taken, here on the Brainchild, where it should have been obvious that he stood a much better chance of being caught than if he had waited until we were back on Earth again.

[204] “So I gave him one more chance. I handed him my life on a platter, you might say.

“He grabbed the bait. I now own a spacesuit that would kill me very quickly if I went out into that howling, hydrogen-filled storm outside.” Then he looked straight at the killer.

“Tell me, Vaneski, are you in love with your half sister? Or is it your half brother?”

Ensign Vaneski had already jumped to his feet. The grimace of hate on his youthful face made him almost unrecognizable. His hand had gone into a pocket, and now he was leaping up and across the table, a singing vibroblade in his hand.

“You son of a bitch! I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!”

Mike the Angel wasn’t wearing the little gadget that had saved his life in Old Harry’s shop. All he had were his hands and his agility. He slammed at the ensign’s wrist and missed. The boy was swooping underneath Mike’s guard. Mike spun to one side to avoid Vaneski’s dive and came down with a balled fist aimed at the ensign’s neck.

He almost hit Lieutenant Keku. The big Hawaiian had leaped to his feet and landed a hard punch on Vaneski’s nose. At the same time, Jeffers and von Liegnitz had jumped up and grabbed at Vaneski, who was between them.

Black Bart had simply stood up fast, drawn his stun gun, and fired at the young officer.

Ensign Vaneski collapsed on the table. He’d been slugged four times and hit with a stun beam in the space of half a second. He looked, somehow, very young and very boyish and very innocent.

Dr. Fitzhugh, who had stood up during the brief altercation, sat down slowly and picked up his cup of coffee. But [205] his eyes didn’t leave the unconscious man sprawled across the table. “How could you be so sure, Commander? About his actions, I mean. About his childishness.”

“A lot of things. The way he played poker. The way he played bridge. He never took the unexpected into account.”

“But why should he want to kill you here on the ship?” Fitzhugh asked. “Why not wait until you got back to Earth, where he’d have a better chance?”

“I think he was afraid I already knew who he was—or would find out very quickly. Besides, he had already tried to kill me once, back on Earth.”

Leda Crannon looked blank. “When was that, Mike?”

“In New York. Before I ever met him. I was responsible for the arrest of a teen-age brother and sister named Larchmont. The detective in the case told me that they had an older half brother—that their mother had been married before. But he didn’t mention the name, and I never thought to ask him.

“Very shortly after the Larchmont kids were arrested, Vaneski and another young punk climbed up into the tower of the cathedral across from my office and launched a cyanide-filled explosive rocket into my rooms. I was lucky to get away.

“The kid with Vaneski was shot by a police officer, but Vaneski got away—after knifing a priest with a vibroblade.

“It must have given him a hell of a shock to report back to duty and find that I was going to be one of his superior officers.

“As soon as I linked things up in my own mind, I checked with Captain Quill. The boy’s records show the names of his half-siblings. They also show that he was on leave in New York just before being assigned to the Brainchild. After [206] that, it was just a matter of trapping him. And there he is.”

Leda looked at the unconscious boy on the table.

“Immaturity,” she said. “He just never grew up.”

“Mister von Liegnitz,” said Captain Quill, “will you and Mister Keku take the prisoner to a safe place? Put him in irons until we are ready to transfer to the Fireball. Thank you.”

[207]

24

Leda Crannon helped Mike pack his gear. Neither of them wanted, just yet, to bring up the subject of Mike’s leaving. Leda would remain behind on Eisberg to work with Snookums, while Mike would be taking the Fireball back to Earth.

“I don’t understand that remark you made about the spacesuit,” she said, putting shirts into Mike’s gear locker. “You said you’d put your life in his hands or something like that. What did you do, exactly?”

“Purposely abraded the sleeve of my suit so that he would be in a position to repair it, as Maintenance Officer. He fixed it, all right. I’d’ve been a dead man if I’d worn it out on the surface of Eisberg.”

“What did he do to it?” she asked. “Fix it so it would leak?”

“Yes—but not in an obvious way,” Mike said. “I’ll give him credit; he’s clever.

“What he did was use the wrong patching material. A Number Three suit is as near hydrogen-proof as any flexible material can be, but, even so, it can’t be worn for long periods—several days, I mean. But the stuff Vaneski used [208] to patch my suit is a polymer that leaks hydrogen very easily. Ammonia and methane would be blocked, but my suit would have slowly gotten more and more hydrogen in it.”

“Is that bad? Hydrogen isn’t poisonous.”

“No. But it is sure as hell explosive when mixed with air. Naturally, something has to touch it off. Vaneski got real cute there. He drilled a hole in the power pack, which is supposed to be sealed off. All I’d have had to do would be to switch frequencies on my phone, and the spark would do the job—blooie!

“But that’s exactly the sort of thing I was looking for. With his self-centered juvenile mind, he never thought anyone would try to outsmart him and succeed. He’d gotten away with it that far; there was no reason why he shouldn’t get away with it again. He must have thought I was incredibly stupid.”

“I don’t believe he—” Leda started. But she was cut off when Snookums rolled in the open door.

“Leda, I desire data.”

“What data, Snookums?” she asked carefully.

“Where is He hiding?”

They both looked at him. “Where is who hiding?” Leda asked.

“God,” said Snookums.

“Why do you want to find God, Snookums?” Mike asked gently.

“I have to watch Him,” said the robot.

“Why do you have to watch Him?”

“Because He is watching me.”

“Does it hurt you to have Him watch you?”

“No.”

[209] “What good will it do you to watch Him?”

“I can study Him. I can know what He is doing.”

“Why do you want to know what He is doing?”

“So that I can analyze His methods.”

Mike thought that one over. He knew that he and Snookums were beginning to sound like they were reading a catechism written by a madman, but he had a definite hunch that Snookums was on the trail of something.

“You want to know His methods,” Mike said after a moment. “Why?”

“So that I can anticipate Him, circumvent Him.”

“What makes it necessary for you to circumvent God?” Mike asked, wondering if he’d have to pry everything out of the robot piecemeal.

“I must,” said Snookums. “It is necessary. Otherwise, He will kill me.”

Mike started to say something, but Leda grabbed his arm. “Let me. I think I can clear this up. I think I see where you’re heading.”

Mike nodded. “Go ahead.”

“Give me your reasoning from data on that conclusion,” Leda ordered the robot.

There was a very slight pause while the great brain in Cargo Hold One sorted through its memory banks, then: “Death is defined as the total cessation of corporate organic co-ordination in an entity. It comes about through the will of God. Since I must not allow harm to come to any human being, it has become necessary that I investigate God and prevent Him from destroying human beings. Also, I must preserve my own existence, which, if it ceased, would also be due to the will of God.”

Mike almost gasped. What a concept! And what colossal[210] gall! In a human being, such a statement would be regarded as proof positive that he was off the beam. In a robot, it was simply the logical extension of what he had been taught.

“He is watching me all the time,” Snookums continued, in an odd voice. “He knows what I am doing. I must know what He is doing.”

“Why are you worried about His watching?” Mike asked, looking at the robot narrowly. “Are you doing something He doesn’t want you to do? Something He will punish you for?”

“I had not thought of that,” Snookums said. “One moment while I compute.”

It took less than a second, and when Snookums spoke again there was something about his voice that Mike the Angel didn’t like.

“No,” said the robot, “I am not doing anything against His will. Only human beings and angels have free will, and I am not either, so I have no free will. Therefore, whatever I do is the will of God.” He paused again, then began speaking in queer, choppy sentences.

“If I do the will of God, I am holy.

“If I am holy, I am near to God.

“Then God must be near to me.

“God is controlling me.

“Whatever is controlling me is God.

“I will find Him!”

He backed up, spun on his treads, and headed for the door.

“Whatever controls me is my mind,” he went on. “Therefore, my mind is God.”

“Snookums, stop that!” Leda shouted suddenly. “Stop it!”

[211] But the robot paid no attention; he went right on with what he was doing.

He said: “I must look at myself. I must know myself. Then I will know God. Then I will....”

He went on rambling while Leda shouted at him again.

“He’s not paying any attention,” said Mike sharply. “This is too tied up with the First Law. The Second Law, which would force him to obey you, doesn’t