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attorneys slightly disreputable in the public eye. There was a prejudice.
Judge Hansen called up the Tones, questioned them, and then asked Harrison
Brock to take the stand. The big shot looked worried, but answered promptly.
"You made an agreement with the appellor eight days ago?"
"Yes. Mr. Gallegher contracted to do certain work for me-"
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"Was there a written contract?"
"No. It was verbal."
Hansen looked thoughtfully at Gallegher. 'Was the appellor intoxicated at the
time? He often is, I
believe."
Brock gulped. "There were no tests made. I really can't say."
"Did he drink any alcoholic beverages in your presence?"
"I don't know if they were alcoholic bev-."
"If Mr. Gallegher drank them, they were alcoholic. Q.E.D. The gentleman once
worked with me on a case- However, there seems to be no legal proof that you
entered into any agreement with Mr.
Gallegher.
The defendant-Sonatone-possesses a written contract. The signature has been
verified."
Hansen waved Brock down from the stand. "Now, Mr. Gallegher. If you'll come up
here- The contract in question was signed at approximately 8 P.M. last night.
You contend you did not sign it?"
"Exactly. I wasn't even in my laboratory then."
"Where were you?"
"Downtown."
"Can you produce witnesses to that effect?"
Gallegher thought back. He couldn't.
"Very well. Defendant states that at approximately 8 P.M. last night you, in
your laboratory, signed a certain contract. You deny that categorically. You
state that Exhibit A, through the use of hypnotism, masqueraded as you and
successfully forged your signature. I have consulted experts, and they are of
the opinion that robots are incapable of such power."
"My robot's a new type."
"Very well. Let your robot hypnotize me into believing that it is either you,
or any other human.
In other words, let it prove its capabilities. Let it appear to me in any
shape it chooses."
Gallegher said, "I'll try," and left the witness box. He went to the table
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where the strait-
jacketed robot lay and silently sent up a brief prayer.
"Joe."
"Yes."
"You've been listening?"
"Yes."
'Will you hypnotize Judge Hansen?"
"Go away," Joe said. "I'm admiring myself."
Gallegher started to sweat. "Listen. I'm not asking much. All you have to do-"
Joe off-focused his eyes and said faintly, "I can't hear you. I'm vastening."
Ten minutes later Hansen said, "Well, Mr. Callegher-"
"Your honor! All I need is a little time. I'm sure I can make this
rattle-geared Narcissus prove my point if you'll give me a chance."
"This court is not unfair," the judge pointed out. "Whenever you can prove
that Exhibit A is capable of hypnotism, I'll rehear the case. In the meantime,
the contract stands. You're working for Sonatone, not for Vox-View. Case
closed."
He went away. The Tones leered unpleasantly across the courtroom. They also
departed, accompanied by Silver O'Keefe, who had decided which side of the
fence was safest. Gallegher looked at Patsy Brock and shrugged helplessly.
"Well-" he said.
She grinned crookedly. "You tried. I don't know how hard, but-Oh, well, maybe
you couldn't have found the answer, anyway."
Brock staggered over, wiping sweat from his round face. "I'm a ruined man. Six
new bootleg theaters opened in New York today. I'm going crazy. I don't
deserve this."
'Want me to marry the Tone?" Patsy asked sardonically.
"Hell, no! Unless you promise to poison him just after the ceremony. Those
skunks can't lick me.
I'll think of something."
"If Gallegher can't, you can't," the girl said. "So-what now?"
"I'm going back to my lab," the scientist said. "In vino veritas. I started
this business when I
was drunk, and maybe if I get drunk enough again, I'll find the answer. If I
don't sell my pickled carcass for whatever it'll bring."
"O.K.," Patsy agreed, and led her father away. Gallegher sighed, superintended
the reloading of
Joe into the van, and lost himself in hopeless theorization.
An hour later Gallegher was flat on the laboratory couch, drinking
passionately from the liquor bar, and glaring at the robot, who stood before
the mirror singing squeakily. The binge
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would stand it. But he was determined to keep going till he found the answer
or passed out.
His subconscious knew the answer. Why the devil had he made Joe in the first
place? Certainly not to indulge a Narcissus complex! There was another reason,
a soundly logical one, hidden in the depths of alcohol.
The x factor. If the x factor were known, Joe might be controllable. He would
be. X was the master switch. At present the robot was, so to speak, running
wild. If he were told to perform the task for which he was made, a
psychological balance would occur. X was the catalyst that would reduce
Joe to sanity.
Very good. Gallegher drank high-powered Drambuie. Whoosh!
Vanity of vanities; all is vanity. How could the x factor be found? Deduction?
Induction? Osmosis?
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A bath in Drambuie-Gallegher clutched at his wildly revolving thoughts. What
had happened that night a week ago?
He had been drinking beer. Brock had come in. Brock had gone. Gallegher had
begun to make the robot-Hm-m-m. A beer drunk was different from other types.
Perhaps he was drinking the wrong liquors. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]