Protocol 7 Read Online Free PDF Page B

is bothering you so?”
    “I don’t believe that’s any of your business, Teah,” he said.
    “Ah. Apparently I have exceeded the social paradigm assigned to casual conversation,” the robot said stiffly, “though why you would withhold such unimportant situational data begs a host of other even more significant queries—”
    Simon swept up the walnut-sized AI relay that connected Hayden to his robot regardless of distance—their little dedicated intercom/cell phone. He dumped it unceremoniously into a cup of cold coffee that sat at the edge of a table.
    “What the devil?” Hayden said, sitting up straight for the first time.
    “That was rather pointless,” Teah said, sounding more puzzled than upset. “Now you will simply have to buy another relay.”
    “And I will have to shout to make myself heard if she’s a room away! Damn it, Simon!”
    “I’m terribly sorry,” he said with complete insincerity. “How clumsy of me.”
    “You seem to think sarcasm is beyond the range of my sensors,” Teah said with a tone that sounded remarkably like condescension. “I assure you, it is not. I am well aware of your low opinion of me.”
    “And yet you continue to speak to me. How thoroughly…inexplicable.”
    Hayden stood up, groaning. “Aaaaaallll right, enough, enough. Teah, would you be kind enough to prepare tea and bring it in for us?” He cocked a bushy eyebrow at Simon. “Or coffee? A shot of Glenfiddich?”
    “Tea is fine, Hayden, thank you.”
    “It would be my pleasure to serve you, Doctor,” the robot said, then slithered and clanked away from the makeshift chess table to the doorway that led deeper into the underground complex. When she was well out of sight, Hayden turned to regard his younger friend. “Well?” he said gruffly. “What is your problem?”
    Hayden was skinny and tall with a scruffy beard that seemed to cling precariously to his leathery face. His white hair badly needed a trim; it fell in flat, straight, silvery wings on both sides of his high-browed forehead.
    Simon was glad to see him; though Hayden was only ten years older than Simon himself, he had always been one of the few friends of his father that he actually liked. And he also happened to be one of the most brilliant thinkers in the UK. He reveled in his role as a curmudgeon. He did not suffer fools gladly, and though he rarely smiled, he had a sense of humor as sharp as a scalpel. As far as Simon was concerned, his only real flaw was his attitude about AIs. He loved them—more than humanity itself—while Simon, on the other hand, could barely stand sharing the planet with them.
    “I don’t think she likes me,” Simon observed, casting an eye at the doorway where Teah had retreated.
    “Oh, Teah likes everyone,” the scientist said, waving it away. “Except you, of course. Now what’s up?”
    Before Simon began to explain what he had come for, he asked, “Hayden, why don’t you have our Industrial Designer at least give her a facelift? She’s one of the most complex forms of robot out there but still looks like something from a bad sci-fi movie.”
    Hayden ignored the comment. “Go on,” he said.
    Simon had been thinking about how to broach the subject for hours—ever since he’d left his own flat. He still wasn’t quite sure how to begin. But he opened his mouth, took a breath—
    —and a gawky, slightly disheveled grad student rounded the corner, appearing from behind an eight-foot pile of equipment, staring at a floating readout and completely unaware of Simon’s presence.
    “Scan’s all done, Hayden,” the grad student chirped. “No bugs. Not a one.”
    Hayden scowled. “Well, shit,” he said. “I was hoping…”
    The student stopped short, suddenly aware of the new arrival. A moment later, he grinned in happy recognition. “Professor Fitzpatrick!” he said. “Cool!”
    Simon recognized him immediately. “Andrew?” Andrew was the epitome of a perpetual grad student—a happy-go-lucky