When it continued right off the highway and onto the beach, I still wasn’t about to say anything, though I was beginning to wonder—if these things suffered breakdowns less often than regular robots, was it possible that they actually suffered worse ones when it happened? And wouldn’t they have more freedom to act upon their lunacy?
“You’re tensing up, Mac. You want a massage? Or is there something you’re worried about? I have to take care of your worries. Part of positively protecting.”
We were rolling rapidly over the beach now, picking our way between the sunbathers, and I gulped hard and said, “Ah, I didn’t realize we’d be going this way—”
“Not to worry, Mac, you’re not going to the downtown HQ to talk to the flunkies, you’re going offshore to talk to Iphwin himself, at the Big Sapphire. I just haven’t gone to hover mode because I don’t want to throw sand on everyone’s face here on the beach. Soon as we’re down to the shore, where the sand’s wet, we’ll ride up and go right on out. In fact here we go now—”
There was a strange push under me, and the whole car seemed to rise a few inches. All thumping and bumping stopped, and we accelerated rapidly.
“Never ridden in a car with hover before, Mac?” it asked.
“Never,” I said. “We’re pretty old-fashioned in Enzy. Part of why I can’t imagine why Mr. Iphwin wants a New Zealand astronomer for a technical post—he can afford better-trained people with more talent, easily, and there are plenty of them around.”
“They didn’t tell me why, either, Mac, but I can promise you it’s gonna be okay. I love ConTech. Best friend to robots in the world. I do hear we’ve got an office down in Auckland now, so maybe you’ll get a little more progress.”
We were skimming over the sea surface now at what seemed a terrific speed, but when I looked at the speed indicator it only registered eighty km/hour—fifty mph.
“Looking at the gauge? Everyone does their first ride on hover, Mac. You’re less than a meter above the water and you’re not used to moving this fast when you’re at sea except during takeoffs. Seems faster than it is.”
“Mind if I ask a possibly personal question?”
“Anyone who would ask that of a robot can ask me anything, Mac.”
“How come you call everyone Mac? Most robots I’ve known call people sir or ma’am, or else Mr. and Mrs.”
“Part of that extra freedom, Mac. All of us are required to put a title into every speech at least once, and the older ones are required to put the title in every place it will fit conveniently. I have a little more latitude so I can devise titles. Mr. Iphwin likes to remind people that he’s an American expat, and as I said, he’s the best friend a robot ever had. In honor of that, as kind of my little compliment to him, I scanned for what taxi drivers said in old American movies and radio shows. Several of the ones I seemed to feel an affinity for called everyone Mac. I don’t know why and didn’t have enough research authorization to find out. But I decided to use Mac as the title, and to try to do it only once per speech, or every few seconds, not once per sentence, Mac. And it worked out. When Mr. Iphwin finally used me for a ride, he liked it so much that he ordered me to make it permanent.”
“It’s really charming,” I said, “and I think his choice was wise. I’m an American expat myself, and I know there were a bunch of expressions with the name Mac in them, but I have no idea why it was there either.”
There seemed to be a faint tinge of disappointment in the voice; the cab said, “Well, if you ever do find out, and ride in me again, I would appreciate it very much if you would tell me, Mac.”
“I’ll do that. Really. And if you’d like a good reference for your file, let me dictate you one.”
“Thanks a bunch, Mac! Sure.”
I spent a few minutes blabbing on about what a splendid limo this limo was, and how pleased I was with it, which it recorded into a file of references for later; I figured it would be no bad thing for this one to get commended.
The coast of Java had just disappeared over our horizon in the rear window as the Big Sapphire seemed to rise from the sea in the windshield. It was called that because it was a gigantic blue regular dodecahedron, balanced on a single slim column that held it about a hundred feet above the water, and it was a bright blue that seemed to glow with an inner light, a neat effect achieved by fiber optics that took light on any one surface and relayed it through the half-kilometer of building to the corresponding point on the opposite surface. Probably it was the most famous building in Asia these days, since it appeared in so many ConTech ads.
The slim column, in fact, was only proportionately slim—it was thick enough to be a creditable skyscraper, and as we approached I saw the doors slide open in the base for us, and a ramp extend down onto the water. “Got you here now, Mac,” the limo said, and we glided up the ramp, into the column, and to a stop inside a freight lift that whisked us upwards for what seemed the better part of a minute. Then the lift doors opened onto a big lobby area, and the limo said, “I enjoyed driving you today, Mac, take care and good luck with the interview.”
The door beside me opened, and I got out and removed my bags from the boot as soon as that opened. Then I walked forward into the lobby; behind me, the lift took the car away. I looked around and wondered what I should do next.
“This way, Dr. Peripart,” a pleasant voice said, and I walked toward it. Beyond a set of dividers and a row of potted plants, there was a large desk and a set of worktables, and seated at the desk was Geoffrey Iphwin. He got up and came around the desk, and we shook hands.
“A pleasure to meet you, Dr. Peripart. May I call you Lyle?” I nodded. “Thank you, Lyle. And although some people try to call me Geoff or Geoffrey, I really am more used to Iphwin. Not Mr. Iphwin, for the love of god. We’re both American expats and we are renowned for our informality, aren’t we?”
“I suppose so,” I said.
“Exactly! Excellent! Have a chair—coffee?”
He was absolutely the most energetic person I had ever seen in my life, seeming to zip from place to place in his spacious working quarters as if he were on high-speed rails. There were times when I could have sworn that he wasn’t visible between where he started and where he ended up; he had offered me a chair, one of eleven in his office space, and—I know because I was fascinated enough to watch for it—during the first part of the interview, he sat in all ten of the other chairs at least twice, besides also perching on his desk and on a worktable.
Physically he was a slight man, with a crooked, vaguely beaky nose, prominent teeth that didn’t quite form an overbite, and large, close-set, washed-out blue eyes. His mouth small, his thick protruding lips a deep red, chin narrow, and the overall effect was of a man put together from spare parts. When he smiled or laughed, which was often, he seemed to be one of those people who does it with his whole body and soul.
“To begin with and to put your mind at ease,” he said, “I read your dossier and you are the guy for the job, so the only problem of this interview is to persuade you to take it and to become acquainted with you.”
“That’s good to hear,” I said. “But I think before we start I should show you something.” I pulled out the blue note that had been left for me that morning, and watched as he read it, frowning in concentration. It seemed very strange that the wealthiest private citizen on Earth should move his lips when he read, but Iphwin did.
“Lyle, if I may have this,” he finally said, “I would very much like to see what my security people can find out about it. They might or might not have something to tell us even before the interview is over—I’ve known them to be that good.” He spoke into the air. “Security here for a piece of evidence for analysis.”