The Questor Tapes Read Online Free PDF Page A

thinking aloud to himself. “Did he drop out of sight voluntarily? Why was this project left to this five-nation combine? To guarantee that all nations would benefit from it? Or to get the brains and resources necessary to get it constructed? Perhaps for other uses.” He turned back to them as a ripple of agitation went around the table.
    Dr. Michaels was frowning, puzzled. “But you do not think we can activate the android. Obviously, you are wondering if Mr. Robinson fits into your premise.”
    “Very much so,” Darro said. “I’ve learned from his university records that our pleasant, unassuming micro-engineer has a tested intelligence quotient fifteen points higher than any person in this room.”
    The android completed the implantation of eyebrows. It had done the delicate installation of lashes in a tenth of the time it would have taken Chen. The eyebrows required even less time. The android paused again and regarded its image in the large mirror. Perfectly formed ears had been molded from the rough shapes that had adorned the baldhead. The nose had been sculpted into a less-than-perfect line. Whoever had designed its features had decided that the android would not look like a Greek god.
    The plastiskin had been treated to produce texture, wrinkles, a mole here and there, even a small fan of lines at the corners of the eyes. Nipples, navel, toenails, and fingernails had been added, along with a small scar under the chin and another on the inner left calf.
    The android consulted the material on the cosmetology table and found the coarse blond hair to be implanted in its head. There was another instrument to stitch the sections of hair into the scalp. The android lifted the first section of hair, carefully positioned it, and started the implantation mechanism. As the stitches drilled into the bald scalp, the android followed the progress reflected in the mirror, automatically adjusting for the reversal of the image. All the facial adornments had been added, but the android’s expression had not changed. It was immobile, blank. The lines in it had been impressed into it, not earned. The eyes glittered hard and cold—and inhuman.
    Jerry Robinson flicked a look at his watch, surprised, when someone knocked at his door. It was eleven, long past the hour when anyone came to the project building. Even internal visits tapered off around ten because of the rigorous work schedule Darro had established. Jerry opened the door to find the project chief standing there.
    “Evening, Robinson.”
    Jerry nodded, waiting. Darro raised an eyebrow and stared a hole through him. Jerry stepped back a pace and vaguely gestured inside. “Uh . . . come in . . . again.” Darro moved past him, and Jerry closed the door. “Little late, isn’t it?”
    Darro settled himself comfortably in an overstuffed chair. “Your usual routine is to retire at eleven-thirty. Since you’re alone and not working, I assume I’m not interrupting anything.”
    “Is there a monitor in this room?”
    Darro twitched the corners of his mouth in what passed for a smile. “Not at all. Your habits are regular and seldom vary. Even if the project members were monitored—and they are not—your personal life runs along as dependably as a clock.”
    “I didn’t think I was that dull,” Jerry said thoughtfully. “But you didn’t drop in to tell me people can set their watches by me.”
    Darro nodded briefly. “Quite right. I’ve just come from meeting with the project scientists. After reviewing all of our information and options, we’ve decided that the most practical use of the android will come only if we disassemble it.”
    “Disassemble it? But . . . you can’t order that!”
    Jerry was aware Darro watched him critically, but he couldn’t contain the surprise, the anguish that burst from him. There was too much of his life bound up in the building of the android. The successful completion of the Questor Project was as important to him as