She lay there, on her side, motionless, curled up in a ghoulish mockery of the fetal position.

For the briefest of moments, she regained consciousness. It might have been a split second after the attack, or two hours later, she could not say. But she saw them, there was no doubt of that. She saw the feet, the two red metallic feet, not thirty centimeters from her face. She felt fear, astonishment, confusion. But then her pain and her injury closed over her again, and she knew nomore.

ROBOT CBN-001, also known as Caliban, awoke for the first time. In a world new to him, his eyes switched on to glow a deep and penetrating blue as he looked about his surroundings. He had no memory, no understanding to guide him. He knew nothing.

He looked down at himself and saw he was tall, his body metallic red. His left arm was half-raised. He was holding it straight out in front of him, his fist clenched. He flexed his elbow, opened his fist, and stared at his hand for a moment. He lowered his arm. He moved his head from side to side, seeing, hearing, thinking, with no recollection of experience to guide him. Where am I, who am I, what am I?

I am in a laboratory of some sort, I am Caliban, I am a robot. The answers came from inside him, but not from his mind. From an on-board datastore, he realized, and that knowledge likewise came from the datastore. So that is where answers come from, he concluded.

He looked down to the floor and saw a body lying on its side there, its head near his feet. It was the crumpled form of a young woman, a pool of blood growing around her head and the upper part of her body. Instantly he recognized the concepts of woman, young, blood, the answers flitting into his awareness almost before he could form the questions. Truly a remarkable device, this on-board datastore.

Who is she? Why does she lie there? What is wrong with her? He waited in vain for the answers to spring forth, but no explanation came to him.