Debatable Space (50 page)

“This is your hotel,” said the Sheriff, and I craned my neck.

“Which room?”

“Any room. It’s yours. It’s fully staffed.”

I continued to stare up at the hotel. It was a double bay-fronted mansion decorated with gold-inlaid sgraffito and ruby bosses,
set in the ubiquitous black stone. It shimmered like a rainbow that has snared a pot of gold.

“I don’t need a whole hotel.”

“It’s yours. You’re our guest.”

“I don’t even sleep. I just need a socket to plug myself in to at night.”

“You
recharge
?”

“I’m kidding. I don’t recharge. My batteries never run out. I kid, sometimes.”

“Remember to warn me.”

“I will, Sheriff.”

“We’ve given you hologram facilities. You can speak to anyone you like anywhere on the planet.”

“I don’t like holograms. I prefer to interview suspects in the flesh.”

“Flesh?”

“I’m still kidding.”

“Ho, forgive my hilarity, ho. Did they ever tell you—?”

“I’m not at liberty to answer personal questions.”

“So they didn’t, huh.” The Sheriff grinned, knowingly, with a hint of condescension.

I was used to this kind of treatment from living humans. I had once analysed the reasons for it, and had recorded my conclusion
on my database:
humans like to think they are better than cyborgs, despite being, in every relevant specification, less efficient, less effective,
and inferior
.

“My personality,” I explained gently, “is a template for my consciousness. It really doesn’t matter
who
used to own it.”

“I can’t imagine—”

“What?”

“Living on in a robot body. Forever.”

“My personality does not live on. The human I used to be is dead. It’s me now. Just me.”

“Yeah. The hotel door is set to your codes. Just give it a hard stare, it’ll let you in.”

“I need to start interviewing.”

“Who? We have no suspects.”

“We have a city full of suspects, Sheriff. I want to get to know them all.”