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

I am capable of simulating imbibing and ingesting, there seems little reason at this time to—”
    “My friend doesn’t want a drink, miss. That’s what he means.”
    Questor recognized the desperate warning tone in Jerry’s voice and glanced at the stewardess. She looked puzzled and on the verge of asking embarrassing questions. He understood instantly and nodded his agreement with Jerry’s interpretation. “I do not wish a drink.”
    Jean studied them both for a second longer. “Are you feeling all right, sir?” she asked Questor.
    He had gone back to reading. “Functioning perfectly, thank you.”
    She nodded skeptically and left. Jerry breathed a sigh of relief and reflected that this was getting to be a habit, too. “Questor . . . until you get the hang of things, why don’t you let me do the talking?”
    “I thought I performed quite well. Was the form of address correct?”
    “Yes, but—”
    “Were sentence structure and grammar correct?”
    “Well . . . yes. Formal, but—”
    “Then we are ‘in,’ as you would say.”
    In defeat, Jerry slouched down in his seat and folded his arms. “I wouldn’t say that.”
    Darro’s office at Cal Tech had been transformed into a communications center. When Phillips walked in, he was reminded of the battle operations station of the aircraft carrier he had served on. Hastily installed phones were manned by project secretaries and assistants. They were going down long lists of numbers, systematically placing calls, asking questions, giving orders. As Phillips made his way toward Darro’s desk, he heard snatches of the conversations.
    “. . . first name Jerome, or Jerry. His photo is on the wires now. Six foot three, one eight-five pounds, dark brown hair . . .”
    “. . . on your international hookups, too. Include the Far East, every major travel terminal. The second man is to be considered potentially dangerous.”
    “. . . no description other than a blue-eyed male of average appearance, six feet, about one hundred seventy-five pounds. Probably dressed in items stolen from our laboratory clothing lockers. The missing apparel . . .”
    Dr. Chen bent over the desk, showing Darro the hair-implanting machine and several used cosmetic preparations. A secretary took notes in shorthand as he displayed each item.
    “You see the traces of several types of medium-brown hair in the implanter.”
    “Be specific, Chen!” Darro snapped. “Brows, lashes, body hair . . . ?”
    “Apparently following existing programming, there was normal hair distribution on the body. Scalp hair thick and curly. It also appears he— it used the preparations designed to simulate moles, sun wrinkles, typical epidermic imperfections. It also used a medium fair skin tone—”
    Darro interrupted quickly, “Are you saying it’ll look human in every way?”
    “Yes, sir. As programmed.”
    The project chief nodded and looked questioningly at Phillips. “We have an artist’s rendering being copied now for distribution,” Phillips said.
    “Good. We can keep to our escaped-lunatic story.” Darro turned to the secretary and began to dictate further search and surveillance instructions. Phillips wondered whether it would work. The android had been programmed to look like any average American male. It was tourist season in Europe. If the android got that far, how would they find him among the millions of sightseers in vacationing crowds? Phillips doubted that even Darro was that good.

7
    T he jet approached Heathrow Airport in a dense fog that had Jerry’s heart in his throat throughout the descent. Questor peered out the window with interest, scanning what seemed to be layer after layer of thick mist.
    “Pea soup,” Jerry muttered.
    Questor glanced at him, head tilted questioningly to the right. “I do not analyze that substance as a comestible,” he said. “It is a heavy moisture layer consisting of—”
    “Questor,” Jerry said patiently, “I was using a slang expression