THE BICENTENNIAL MAN

by Isaac Asimov

Andrew had been intended to perform the duties of a valet, a butler, even a lady’s maid. Those were the experimental days for him and, indeed, for all robots anywhere save in the industrial and exploratory factories and stations off Earth.

  The Martins enjoyed him, and half the time he was prevented from doing his work because Miss and Little Miss wanted to play with him. It was Miss who first understood how this might be arranged. “We order you to play with us and you must follow orders.”

  “I am sorry, Miss, but a prior order from Sir must surely take precedence.”

  But she said, “Daddy just said he hoped you would take care of the cleaning. That’s not much of an order. I order you.”

  Sir did not mind. Sir was fond of Miss and of Little Miss, even more than Ma’am was; and Andrew was fond of them, too. At least, the effect they had upon his actions were those which in a human being would have been called the result of fondness. Andrew thought of it as fondness for he did not know any other word for it.

  It was for Little Miss that Andrew had carved a pendant out of wood. She had ordered him to. Miss, it seemed, had received an ivorite pendant with scrollwork for her birthday and Little Miss was unhappy over it. She had only a piece of wood, which she gave Andrew together with a small kitchen knife.

  He had done it quickly and Little Miss had said, “That’s nice, Andrew. I’ll show it to Daddy.”

  Sir would not believe it. “Where did you really get this, Mandy?” Mandy was what he called Little Miss. When Little Miss assured him she was really telling the truth, he turned to Andrew. “Did you do this, Andrew?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “The design, too?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “From what did you copy the design?”

  “It is a geometric representation, Sir, that fits the grain of the wood.”

  The next day, Sir brought him another piece of wood-- a larger one-- and an electric vibro-knife. “Make something out of this, Andrew. Anything you want to,” he said.

  Andrew did so as Sir watched, then looked at the product a long time. After that, Andrew no longer waited on tables. He was ordered to read books on furniture design instead, and he learned to make cabinets and desks.

  “These are amazing productions, Andrew,” Sir soon told him.

  “I enjoy doing them, Sir,” Andrew admitted.

  “Enjoy?”

  “It makes the circuits of my brain somehow flow more easily. I have heard you use the word `enjoy’ and the way you use it fits the way I feel. I enjoy doing them, Sir.”

  3.

  Gerald Martin took Andrew to the regional offices of the United States Robots and Mechanical Men Corporation. As a member of the Regional Legislature he had no trouble at all in gaining an interview with the chief robopsychologist. In fact, it was only as a member of the Regional Legislature that he qualified as a robot owner in the first place-- in those early days when robots were rare.

  Andrew did not understand any of this at the time. But in later years, with greater learning, he could re-view that early scene and understand it in its proper light.

  The robopsychologist, Merton Mansky, listened with a growing frown and more than once managed to stop his fingers at the point beyond which they would have irrevocably drummed on the table. He had drawn features and a lined forehead, but he might actually have been younger than he looked.

  “Robotics is not an exact art, Mr. Martin,” Mansky explained. “I cannot explain it to you in detail, but the mathematics governing the plotting of the positronic pathways is far too complicated to permit of any but approximate solutions. Naturally, since we build everything around the Three Laws, those are incontrovertible. We will, of course, replace your robot--”

  “Not at all,” said Sir. “There is no question of failure on his part. He performs his assigned duties perfectly. The point is he also carves wood in exquisite fashion and never the same twice. He produces works of art.”

  Mansky looked confused. “Strange. Of course, we’re attempting generalized pathways these days. Really creative, you think?”

  “See for yourself.” Sir handed over a little sphere of wood on which there was a playground scene in which the boys and girls were almost too small to make out, yet they were in perfect proportion and they blended so naturally with the grain that it, too, seemed to have been carved.

  Mansky was incredulous. “He did that?” He handed it back with a shake of his head. “The luck of the draw. Something in the pathways.”

  “Can you do it again?”

  “Probably not. Nothing like this has ever been reported.”

  “Good! I don’t in the least mind Andrew’s being the only one.”

  “I suspect that the company would like to have your robot back for study,” Mansky said.

  “Not a chance!” Sir said with sudden grimness. “Forget it.” He turned to Andrew, “Let’s go home, now.”

  4.

  Miss was dating boys and wasn’t about the house much. It was Little Miss, not as little as she once was, who filled Andrew’s horizon now. She never forgot that the very first piece of wood carving he had done had been for her. She kept it on a silver chain about her neck.

  It was she who first objected to Sir’s habit of giving away Andrew’s work. “Come on, Dad, if anyone wants one of them, let him pay for it. It’s worth it.”

  “It isn’t like you to be greedy, Mandy.”

  “Not for us, Dad. For the artist.”

  Andrew had never heard the word before, and when he had a moment to himself he looked it up in the dictionary.

  Then there was another trip, this time to Sir’s lawyer.

  “What do you think of this, John?” Sir asked.

  The lawyer was John Finegold. He had white hair and a pudgy belly, and the rims of his contact lenses were tinted a bright green. He looked at the small plaque Sir had given him. “This is beautiful. But I’ve already heard the news. Isn’t thus a carving made by your robot? The one you’ve brought with you.”

  “Yes, Andrew does them. Don’t you, Andrew?”

  “Yes, Sir,” said Andrew.

  “How much would you pay for that, John?” Sir asked.

  “I can’t say. I’m not a collector of such things.”

  “Would you believe I have been offered two hundred and fifty dollars for that small thing. Andrew has made chairs that have sold for five hundred dollars. There’s two hundred thousand dollars in the bank from Andrew’s products.”

  “Good heavens, he’s making you rich, Gerald.”

  “Half rich,” said Sir. “Half of it is in an account in the name of Andrew Martin.”

  “The robot?”

  “That’s right, and I want to know if it’s legal.”

  “Legal . . . ?” Feingold’s chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “There are no precedents, Gerald. How did your robot sign the necessary papers?”

  “He can sign his name. Now, is there anything further that ought to be done?”

  “Um.” Feingold’s eyes seemed to turn inward for a moment. Then he said, “Well, we can set up a trust to handle all finances in his name and that will place a layer of insulation between him and the hostile world. Beyond that, my advice is you do nothing. No one has e stopped you so far. If anyone objects, let him bring suit”

  “And will you take the case if the suit is brought?”

  “For a retainer, certainly.”

  “How much?”

  “Something like that,” Feingold said, and pointed to the wooden plaque.

  “Fair enough,” said Sir.

  Feingold chuckled as he turned to the robot. “Andrew, are you pleased that you have money?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What do you plan to do with it?” Pay for things, sir, which otherwise Sir “would have to pay for. It would save him expense, sir.”

  5.

  Such occasions’ arose. Repairs were expensive, and revisions were even more so. With the years, new models of robots were produced and Si
r saw to it that Andrew had the advantage of every new device, until he was a model of metallic excellence. It was all done at Andrew’s expense. Andrew insisted on that.

  Only his positronic pathways were untouched. Sir insisted on that.

  “The new models aren’t as good as you are, Andrew,” he said. “The new robots are worthless. The company has learned to make the pathways more precise, more closely on the nose, more deeply on the track. The new robots don’t shift. They do what they’re designed for and never stray. I like you better.”

  “Thank you, Sir.”

  “And it’s your doing, Andrew, don’t you forget that. I am certain Mansky put an end to generalized pathways as soon as he had a good look at you. He didn’t like the unpredictability. Do you know how many times he asked for you back so he could place you under study? Nine times! I never let him have you, though; and now that he’s retired, we may have some peace.”

  So Sir’s hair thinned and grayed and his face grew pouchy, while Andrew looked even better than he had when he first joined the family. Ma’am had joined an art colony somewhere in Europe, and Miss was a poet in New York. They wrote sometimes, but not often. Little Miss was married and lived not far away. She said she did not want to leave Andrew. When her child, Little Sir, was born, she let Andrew hold the bottle and feed him.

  With the birth of a grandson, Andrew felt that Sir finally had someone to replace those who had gone. Therefore, it would not be so unfair now to come to him with the request.

  “Sir, it is kind of you to have allowed me to spend my money as I wished”

  “It was your money, Andrew.”

  “Only by your voluntary act, Sir. I do not believe the law would have stopped you from keeping it all.”

  “The law won’t persuade me to do wrong, Andrew.”

  “Despite all expenses, and despite taxes, too, Sir, I have nearly six hundred thousand dollars.”

  “I know that, Andrew.”

  “I want to give it to you, Sir.”

  “I won’t take it, Andrew”

  “In exchange for something you can give me, Sir”

  “Oh? What is that, Andrew?”

  “My freedom, Sir.”

  “Your--”

  “I wish to buy my freedom, Sir.”

  6.

  It wasn’t that easy. Sir had flushed, had said, “For God’s sake!” Then he had turned on his heel and stalked away.

  It was Little Miss who finally brought him round, defiantly and harshly-- and in front of Andrew. For thirty years no one had ever hesitated to talk in front of Andrew, whether or not the matter involved Andrew. He was only a robot.

  “Dad, why are you taking this as a personal affront? He’ll still be here. He’ll still be loyal. He can’t help that; it’s built in. All he wants is a form of words. Ha wants to be called free. Is that so terrible? Hasn’t be earned this chance? Heavens, he and I have been talking about it for years!”

  “Talking about it for years, have you?”

  “Yes, and over and over again he postponed it for fear he would hurt you. I made him put the matter up to you.”

  “He doesn’t know what freedom is. He’s a robot.”

  “Dad, you don’t know him. He’s read everything in the library. I don’t know what he feels inside, but I don’t know what you feel inside either. When you talk to him you’ll find he reacts to the various abstractions as you and I do, and what else counts? If some one else’s reactions are like your own, what more can you ask for?”

  “The law won’t take that attitude,” Sir said, angrily. “See here, you!” He turned to Andrew with a deliberate grate in his voice. “I can’t free you except by doing it legally. If this gets into the courts, you not only won’t get your freedom but the law will take official cognizance of your money. They’ll tell you that a robot has no right to earn money. Is this rigmarole worth losing your money?”

  “Freedom is without price, Sir,” said Andrew. “Even the chance of freedom is worth the money.”

  7.

  It seemed the court might also take the attitude that freedom was without price, and might decide that for no price, however great, could a robot buy its freedom.

  The simple statement of the regional attorney who represented those who had brought a class action to oppose the freedom was this: “The word `freedom’ has no meaning when applied to a robot. Only a human being can be free.” He said it several times, when it seemed appropriate; slowly, with his hand coming down rhythmically on the desk before him to mark the words.

  Little Miss asked permission to speak on behalf of Andrew.

  She was recognized by her full name, something Andrew had never heard pronounced before: “Amanda Laura Martin Charney may approach the bench.”

  “Thank you, Your Honor. I am not a lawyer and I don’t know the proper way of phrasing things, but I hope you will listen to my meaning and ignore the words.

  “Let’s understand what it means to be free in Andrew’s case. In some ways, he is free. I think it’s at least twenty years since anyone in the Martin family gave him an order to do something that we felt he might not do of his own accord. But we can, if we wish, give him an order to do anything, couching it as harshly as we wish, because he is a machine that belongs to us. Why should we be in a position to do so, when he has served us so long, so faithfully, and has earned so much money for us? He owes us nothing more. The debit is entirely on the other side.

  “Even if we were legally forbidden to place Andrew in involuntary servitude, he would still serve us voluntarily. Making him free would be a trick of words only, but it would mean much to him. It would give him everything and cost us nothing.”

  For a moment the judge seemed to be suppressing a smile. “I see your point, Mrs. Chamey. The fact is that there is no binding law in this respect and no precedent. There is, however, the unspoken assumption that only a man may enjoy freedom. I can make new law here, subject to reversal in a higher court; but I cannot lightly run counter to that assumption. Let me address the robot. Andrew!”

  “Yes, Your Honor.”

  It was the first time Andrew bad spoken in court, and the judge seemed astonished for a moment at the human timbre of his voice.

  “Why do you want to be free, Andrew? In what way will this matter to you?”

  Andrew said, “Would you wish to be a slave, Your Honor?”

  “But you are not a slave. You are a perfectly good robot-- a genius of a robot, I am given to understand, capable of an artistic expression that can be matched nowhere. What more could you do if you were free?”

  “Perhaps no more than I do now, Your Honor, but with greater joy. It has been said in this courtroom that only a human being can be free. It seems to me that only someone who wishes for freedom can be free. I wish for freedom.”

  And it was that statement that cued the judge. The crucial sentence in his decision was “There is no right to deny freedom to any object with a mind advanced enough to grasp the concept and desire the state.” It was eventually upheld by the World Court.

  8.

  Sir remained displeased, and his harsh voice made Andrew feel as if he were being short-circuited. “I don’t want your damned money, Andrew. I’ll take it only because you won’t feel free otherwise. From now on, you can select your own jobs and do them as you please. I will give you no orders, except this one: Do as you please. But I am still responsible for you. That’s part of the court order. I hope you understand that.”

  Little Miss interrupted. “Don’t be irascible, Dad. The responsibility is no great chore. You know you won’t have to do a thing. The Three Laws still hold.”

  “Then how is he free?”

  “Are not human beings bound by their laws, Sir?” Andrew replied.

  “I’m not going to argue.” Sir left the room, and Andrew saw him only infrequently after that.

  Little Miss came to see him frequently in the small house that had been built and made over for him. It had no kitchen, of course, nor
bathroom facilities. It had just two rooms; one was a library and one was a combination storeroom and workroom. Andrew accepted many commissions and worked harder as a free robot than he ever had before, till the cost of the house was paid for and the structure was signed over to him.

  One day Little Sir-- no, “George!”-- came. Little Sir had insisted on that after the court decision. “A free robot doesn’t call anyone Little Sir,” George had said. “I call you Andrew. You must call me George.”

  His preference was phrased as an order, so Andrew called him George-- but Little Miss remained Little Miss.

  One day when George came alone, it was to say that Sir was dying. Little Miss was at the bedside, but Sir wanted Andrew as well.

  Sir’s voice was still quite strong, though he seemed unable to move much. He struggled to raise his hand.

  “Andrew,” he said, “Andrew-- Don’t help me, George. I’m only dying; I’m not crippled. Andrew, I’m glad you’re free. I just wanted to tell you that.”

  Andrew did not know what to say. He had never been at the side of someone dying before, but he knew it was the human way of ceasing to function. It was an involuntary and irreversible dismantling, and Andrew did not know what to say that might be appropriate. He could only remain standing, absolutely silent, absolutely motionless.

  When it was over, Little Miss said to him, “He may not have seemed friendly to you toward the end, Andrew, but he was old, you know; and it hurt him that you should want to be free.”

  Then Andrew found the words. “I would never have been free without him, Little Miss.”

  9.

  Only after Sir’s death did Andrew begin to wear clothes. He began with an old pair of trousers at first, a pair that George had given him.

  George was married now, and a lawyer. He had joined Feingold’s firm. Old Feingold was long since dead, but his daughter had carried on. Eventually the firm’s name became Feingold and Martin. It remained so even when the daughter retired and no Feingold took her place. At the time Andrew first put on clothes, the Martin name had just been added to the firm.