"Kuttner, Henry - Piggy Bank UC" - читать интересную книгу автора (Kuttner Henry)

“That’s right. But I can get the robot whenever I like. The court ruled in my favor—special circumstances.”
“Think you can catch the thing. I don’t. Gunther was a smart man. If he made that robot invulnerable. I’ll bet you won’t be able to get your hands on it. Unless you know the key phrase, of course.”
“I—” Ballard stopped. His eyes changed. “How’d you know—”
“That there was a code? Gunther phoned me just before he . . . ah . . met his unfortunate accident. He suspected you were going to kill him.
I do not know the ins and outs of the thing, but I got a telecall from him that night. All he said was to tell you what the key code was—but not to tell you till the right time. Gunther was pretty farsighted.”
“You know the code?” Ballard said, his voice expressionless.
Ffoulkes shook his head. “No.”
“Just what do you mean?”
“Gunther said this: ‘Tell Ballard that the key code is what he finds on the wire tape—the name and number of the patent for making artificial diamonds.’”
Ballard looked at his fingernails. The wire tape. The secret he had found only by tricking and killing Gunther. Only in his mind now did that information exist—”McNamara, Torsion Process, Patent No. R-73-V-22.”
And Gunther must have keyed the robot to that chain of phrases before he died.
“Finished?” Ffoulkes asked.
“Yeah.” Ballard got up, crumpling his napkin.
“This is on me. - . . One more point, Bruce. It would be distinctly to my advantage if diamonds became valueless. I’ve sold out all my diamond holdings, but plenty of my competitors have interests in the African mines. If the bottom falls out of the market, I can do some good for myself.”
“Well?”
“Would you tell me that patent number?”

“I thought not,” Ffoulkes said, sighing. “Well, good-by.”
Ballard commandeered a truck, well armored, and hired a dozen guards. He drove out to the castle. The officer at the gate nodded agreeably.
“Want to go in, sir?”
“Yes. I have permission—”
“I know that, sir. Go right ahead. You’re after your robot?”
Ballard didn’t answer. The castle, after he had entered, seemed strange to him. Already there had been alterations, rugs removed, pictures stored, furniture carried away. It was no longer his.
He glanced at his watch. Five after two. Argus would be making his rounds. The great hall— Ballard headed for it. He caught sight of the golden robot emerging into
the hall and beginning its slow circuit. Two men followed it, just beyond the circle of reaction. They were police guards.
Ballard walked toward them. “I’m Bruce Ballard.”
“Yes, sir.”
“What - . . what the devil! Aren’t you Dangerfield? Ffoulkes’ chief of staff? Wh—”
Dangerfield’s blank face didn’t change expression. “I’ve been sworn in as special deputy. The authorities consider your robot too valuable to be left unguarded. We’re detailed to keep an eye on it.”
Ballard didn’t move for a moment. Then he said, “Well, your job’s finished. I’m taking the robot away.”
“Very well, sir.”
“You can leave.”
“Sorry, sir. My orders were not to leave the robot unguarded for a moment.”
“Ffoulkes gave you those orders,” Ballard said, his voice not quite under control.
“Sir?”
Ballard looked at the other guard. “Are you Ffoulkes’ man, too?”
“Sir?”
Dangerfield said, “You’re quite free to remove your robot whenever you wish, but until it’s out of the castle, we mustn’t take our eyes off those diamonds.”

They had, as they talked, been following Argus. Now the robot moved on into the next hail and commenced its slow circuit. Ballard ran around in front of the creature. Covering his lips with one hand, he whispered, “McNamara, Torsion Process, Patent No. R-735-V-22.”
The robot kept on walking. Dangerfield said, “You’ll have to say it louder, won’t you?”
He was holding a little notebook and stylo.
Ballard stared at the other for a moment. Then he ran in toward Argus, beginning to whisper the code phrase again. But the robot instantly fled till it was beyond Ballard’s triggering nearness.
He couldn’t get close enough to whisper the code. And if he said it loudly enough for Argus to hear, Dangerfield was ready to carry the formula to Ffoulkes. What Ffoulkes would do was obvious—publicize the process, so that the bottom would fall out of the diamond market.
The trio moved on, leaving Ballard where he was. Could there be a way out? Was there any way of trapping the robot?
The man knew that there was none-none he could employ’ in a house no longer his own. With power and wealth, he might eventually figure out a way. But time was important.
Even yet, he could re-establish himself. A month from now he could not. By that time the strings of empire would have passed forever from his hands. Frantically his mind doubled back on its tracks, seeking escape.
Suppose he used the process to make more diamonds?
He might try. But he was no longer Bruce Ballard, the robber baron. He did not have the invulnerability of the very wealthy. Ffoulkes could have him shadowed, could trace his every movement. There was no possibility of secrecy. Whatever he did from now on would be an open book to Ffoulkes. So, if he made more diamonds, Ffoulkes’ men would discover the method. There was no escape that way.
Escape. So easy for the robot. He had lost invulnerability, but the robot was invulnerable. He had lost wealth; Argus was Midas. His intelligence could not help him now in this greatest crisis of his life. For an insane moment he wondered what Argus would do in his place—Argus whose infallible metal brain was so far superior to the brain that had brought it into being.