Caliban - By Isaac Asimov,Roger E. Allen Page 0,72

bearings. He forced himself to think clearly, struggling to keep from getting flustered. "North," he said at last. "Due north from here, heading up Aurora Boulevard."

"That would be in the direction of Government Tower?" the deferential robot voice asked.

Pallichan looked up the avenue and saw the tower. "Yes, yes, that's right." The dispatch robot must have consulted a map system and located an obvious landmark Pallichan could use to confirm position and direction. Damned clever of the police to have the robots verify things that way.

"Thank you for your report, sir. A top-priority rapid-response aircar is now being dispatched to investigate. Good day to you."

The line went dead, and Centor Pallichan snapped his phone shut. He dropped it back in his pocket with a proud feeling of civic-mindedness. He led his robot, still patiently carrying his packages, back toward his aircar and managed to get everything packed away without help from any other robots.

Some minutes later, when his robot had taken the controls and lifted toward home, it dawned on him to wonder why the police had been so willing to listen to him. Why had they believed something as mad as a report of a rogue robot? Why hadn't the dispatcher tried to confirm what should have sounded like a completely lunatic report?

It was, he realized with a chill of fear, almost as if the dispatch robot had beenwaiting for a rogue-robot call. Pallichan did not even wish toconsider the implications ofthat thought. No, no, far better to force the entire thing from his mind. A quiet life for him. Dealing with the police was distasteful enough.

"INCOMING priority!" The words were out of Senior Deputy Meldor's mouth almost before he was aware that the alert light had come on. That was what training could do for you, he told himself. It let you act, and act properly, before you were even quite sure what was happening. He scanned the text of the incoming message, allowing Junior Deputy Lusser to keep her full attention on flying the car, picking out the data she would need to get them to the target. No need to distract her with needless details at the precise moment she was called upon to do some intricate flying.

"What is it, Tansaw?" Mirta Lusser demanded.

"Rogue-robot call, subject reported proceeding northward on Aurora from the intersection of Aurora and Solaria." Meldor checked his vectors and location. "Come to heading 045," he said.

But the aircar was already banking, veering toward the northeast. She had worked it out in her head. Lusser was a good pilot, Meldor decided, one who always knew where she was over the city and how to get anywhere else. "Damn it, Meldor, a rogue robot? Does this mean the damn rumors arereal? "

"Unless the cops aren't the only ones hearing the rumors," Meldor said grimly. "If the civilians have heard the same scuttlebutt we have, some of them might get plenty jumpy, and I wouldn't blame them. People are going to start seeing things."

"Wonderful," Mirta said. "That's not going to make our job any easier. Hang on, over target location in ten seconds."

CENTOR Pallichan could not quite believe what had happened. He had seen-and talked with-a mad robot. At least, he had convinced himself that was what had happened. Not altogether subconsciously, he was already mentally reworking the encounter for purposes of relating it to his friends, enhancing his own perspicacity and cleverness just a trifle. Easy to do now that it was allover. The moment itself had contained little actual excitement. It was the aftermath, the call to the police, that put a tingle of excitement and danger in his spine. Perhaps there were people to whom the experience of calling the police would seem to be no great adventure, but it was the closest to bold action Pallichan had ever come, and he felt no guilt in savoring the moment.

But it was time to get back to normal, he decided, a bit primly. Yes, Pallichan decided, it was time to let his robot fly him home, time to slide into the calm, natural order of things. Already he was envisioning the smooth, quiet ritual of the midday meal, always just the same food, served just the same way, at just the same time. His robots knew how much he valued order and regularity, and no doubt his pilot robot had already signaled to his household staff, advising of the upset to the master's day. No doubt they would see to it that the