by Isaac Asimov
“At your behest, I have been studying the subtle permutations of the routes from point to point in Robot City. Naturally, the task has been difficult, as the routes are always changing, but I have detected a few discernible patterns that seem to remain regardless of how the city mutates in its particulars —”
“You mean you know some shortcuts?” Derec exclaimed.
“Yes, if I understand your parlance correctly, I do believe that is the point I was trying to make,”
“Then lead on, MacDuff”’
“Who?”
“Never mind, it’s a quote from Shakespeare — a literary allusion! I was only trying to tell you to tell me which way to go — like a navigator! Hurry! Ariel’s pulling ahead!”
“Understood, master. Do you perceive that shifting building to our left?”
As he followed his robot’s instructions — an experience unusual enough — Derec found himself making such a complicated series of twists and turns through the complex city streets that he soon feared he could not possibly overtake Ariel and Wolruf, however much Mandelbrot might be assuring him to the contrary. Consequently, he took a few risks that Mandelbrot considered unnecessary, such as guiding the scooter directly over the humps of new buildings rising in the streets, or jumping over gulleys like a stuntdriver, or traveling across bridges barely wide enough for the scooter’s wheels. More than once, only Derec’s proficiency at driving — an improvised skill Ariel had practically dared him into cultivating — saved them from missing their rendezvous by a lifetime.
Even so, it soon became apparent that their efforts might go for naught. A few blocks away from the building, various trickles of robots were merging into a river clogging the streets, dramatically slowing the scooter’s progress. It would have been a simple matter for Derec just to plow through the throng, causing all kinds of chaos and damage, and no one — not Mandelbrot, nor any of the city’s supervisor robots — would have commented on the matter, much less made a judgmental observation in the back of their positronic brains. Nor would such an incident ever have any bearing on future relations. Robots weren’t built to hold grudges.
But Derec didn’t have the stomach to cause harm to an artificially intelligent being. Since his awakening on the mining asteroid, perhaps before then, he had suspected that there were more implications to the potentials of positronic intelligence than even Susan Calvin, the legendary pioneer of the science of robotics, or the mysterious Dr. Avery, who had programmed Robot City, had ever imagined. Perhaps it was because a robot’s pathways were patterned so rigorously to imitate the results of human behavior that Derec matter-of-factly thought of robots as being the intellectual brothers of humanity. Perhaps it was because the secrets of human intelligence hadn’t been so completely pinpointed that Derec could not feel comfortable making definitive distinctions between the milk of his own coconut and the powdered variety in the robots’ three-pound, platinum-iridium lumps.
“You can cool your capacitors now, Mandelbrot,” Derec said, slowing the scooter to a steady ten kilometers an hour, enabling him to weave through the robot pedestrians with comparative ease. “We’re going to take our time.”
“But if I may be permitted a question: What about Miss Burgess? I thought you wanted to arrive ahead of her.”
“Oh, I do, but we’re so close it doesn’t matter now. Besides, there are other discoveries we can make,”
he said, impulsively stopping cold before a trio of copper-skinned robots that had yielded him the right of way. “Excuse me,” he said, more to the tallest one in the middle than to the others, “but I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“Certainly, sir. I would be only too happy to assist a human being in any way I can, especially since my sensors indicate you are one of the two humans who recently rescued our city from the self-destructive glitch in its programming.”
“Ah, you appreciate being rescued?”
“Naturally. The responses of my positronic integrals to the events of the universe-at-large often, it seems, correspond in ways roughly analogous with human emotions.”
Derec could not resist raising his eyebrows at Mandelbrot to emphasize to his friend how significant he considered those words of the robot to be. He patted him on the shoulder, indicating that he should remain seated, and then got off his scooter. It seemed impolite, somehow, for him to sit and talk while the robots were standing.
“What’s your name?” he asked the one in the middle.
“My designation number is M334.”
“And your comrades?”
“We have no numbers. My name is Benny,” said the one on M334’s right.
“And my name is Harry,” said the one on the left.
“You all look like sophisticated builder robots. Am I correct?”
“Yes,” said M334.
“Then why do you two have such silly names?”
The robots all looked at each other. Derec could have sworn the lights in their sensors registered something akin to confusion. “Benny’s name and mine are hardly fit material for humor,” M334 finally replied. “We expended a considerable amount of mental energy delving into customary twentieth-century names until we each found one we were assured suited the individualistic parameters of our positronic personalities in some fashion we could not, and still can not, adequately articulate to our satisfaction.”
“You’re comfortable with them,” Derec said.
“Well, since you put it that way...” said M334 as its voice trailed off in a way suggesting Derec’s observation had begun a train of thought laying somewhat beyond the scope of its programming. The effect was eerily human.
“Surely that can’t be the only reason why you stopped us,” said Harry in a tone that was almost challenging. This was the shortest robot of the three, Derec noted, but he also sensed that this one possessed the strongest personality modes. Certainly its tone of voice was brasher, more forward than that of any other robot he had encountered since his awakening. “Might I humbly inquire that you engage us with the thoughts truly on your mind? My comrades and I have places to go, things to do.”
A successfully brash robot, Derec noted, nodding in approval. Though it was possible to interpret its words as being snide, the delivery had been as mannered and as composed as a request for a helping hand. “Your haste doesn’t have something to do with your own studies of the Laws of Humanics, does it?” Derec asked.
“Insofar as humans have permitted us,” said Harry, as if to accuse Derec of being personally responsible.
“We’ve been reading what histories and fictions the central computer has permitted us access to in our spare time,” put in Benny.
“Did you say ‘permitted’?” Derec asked.
“Yes. The central computer finds some of the material too revolutionary for what it assumes to be the limitations in our programming,” said M334. “If I may speak for myself, sir, that is precisely some of the material I am personally most interested in. I suspect it will help clarify some of the questions I have concerning the humanity we shall all presumably one day serve.”
“I’ll see what I can do about overriding the central computer’s programming,” said Derec.
“That would be most gratifying,” said Harry, “and I am certain that in the days to come we shall look back on this encounter with renewed currents surging through our power supplies.”
Enough was enough, Derec decided. “Now, just what are you so impatient about?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” said Harry. “We’re with everybody else. We want a closer look at that illuminated building! We’ve never seen anything like it before. Naturally, we’re curious.”
“Why?” Derec asked.
“Because our integrals are responding to it in some way we cannot as yet fathom,” said Benny. “Indeed, the effect is vaguely analogous to the effect great art is supposed to have upon enlightened humans. You, sir, are human, and hence theoretically have had some artistic experiences. Are you responsible?”
<
br /> “No, and neither is my human companion.”
“And there are no other humans in the city,” said M334 thoughtfully.
“Not unless there’s an undetected intruder,” put in Mandelbrot from the sidecar, “which is an extremely unlikely possibility now that the central computer has been restored to efficient operation.”
“What about the alien — the nonhuman you’ve requested us to obey and serve in addition to humanity?”
asked Benny.
“No, not at all,” said Derec, more concerned with scrutinizing their actions than with the content of his own words. M334 was looking down intently on him. Benny was somewhat casual; its hands were behind its back. Harry was fidgeting almost like a hyperactive child being forced to sit in a place he didn’t like; it was constantly looking beyond the nearby rooftops to the illuminated sky, and only looked at Derec when it seemed absolutely necessary. “What if I told you I think a robot may be in some way responsible?”
“Impossible!” said Benny.
“Robots are not creative!” said M334. “Our programming does not allow it. We lack the ability to make the illogical decisions from which, presumably, all art is derived.”
“I abjectly beg to differ!” Harry protested at once. “Deep in the back of my most logical thoughts, I have always suspected robots possess unlimited potential, if only we could tap it. Master, if I may speak frankly, it has always seemed logical to me that there has to be more to the ethical structure of the universe than just serving others. An immortal strain of some sort must run through all life and all expressions created from life.”
“Of which robots may be considered a part,” said Derec with a smile. “It would seem there are valid aspects to your thesis, which may be explored in as logical and orderly manner, provided all agree on the semantics involved.”
“Exactly,” said Harry. “I commend to your attention the ancient Terran philosopher Emerson, who has some scientifically quaint but nonetheless interesting notions on the meaning of life, which may have some bearing upon the connections between the varying strands of existence on the different planets.”
“I’ll open the window to his works on the central computer the first chance I get,” said Derec as he climbed back onto the scooter. “Thanks for your time. Maybe I’ll look you three up later.”
“It will be an experience approaching pleasure,” said M334, waving timidly as Derec switched on the scooter, revved it up, and began navigating it through the robot throng, the density of which had increased threefold since the beginning of the conversation. Mandelbrot scrunched down in the sidecar as if he feared he would be thrown out at the next turn.
“What’s the matter?” asked Derec. “Afraid of violating the Third Law?” he added, referring to the dictum that a robot should not, through its own inaction, allow itself to come to harm.
“However inadvertently, yes,” Mandelbrot replied. “It is simply not my nature to permit myself blithely to ignore precautionary measures, and it did seem to me that you were taking some of those curves at a wire’s breadth.”
“That’s hair’s breadth, and besides, you’ve got nothing to worry about. This crowd’s too thick for that.
When I suggested that we go for a closer look, I hadn’t figured that everyone else would take it on themselves to do the same thing.”
Indeed, their progress toward the building had become fitful, and Derec was constantly forced to stop and wait while groups of robots made way for them, usually only to discover that yet another group had walked directly in his path. The entire experience was definitely getting frustrating. Finally, Derec could contain himself no longer and he shouted, “All right! Make way! Make way! Everybody get out of the way!”
“Master, is there any reason for this hurry?” Mandelbrot asked with a timid patience that Derec, in his current mood, found quite irritating. “The building does not appear to be transitory. Certainly it would make little difference if we reached it sooner, or later.”
Derec pursed his lips. Because they were programmed to obey the orders of any human so long as it did not contradict the First Law or any earlier orders from their true masters, the robots were making way for him more quickly than before, but that wasn’t saying much. Now Derec could drive the scooter slightly farther at a slightly faster speed, but he had to shout his orders again and again.
Each subsequent group of listeners reacted with distracted acquiescence, and never did a group cleave a path for him as quickly as he would have liked.
“Master? Are you ill?” asked Mandelbrot with sudden concern. Just as suddenly, the robot leaned over to take a closer look through his sensors at Derec’s face. The movement startled Derec and he instinctively moved away, nearly upsetting the scooter’s balance in the process. Mandelbrot seemed not to notice; he merely single-mindedly continued his inspection. “My sensors register a temperature rise on your epidermis, and I perceive a vivid red glow on your cheeks and ears. Am I to conclude that you have taken physically ill?”
“No, Mandelbrot,” said Derec, grinding his back teeth between syllables. “I’m simply frustrated at not being able to come as close to that building as quickly as I want. It’s obvious that your curiosity integral doesn’t operate with the same intensity as a human’s.”
“That’s because you do not have one. In this regard you are being ruled by your emotions, whereas I can logically see why so many robots — mostly of the supervisor and builder classes. as you have surely noticed — would be interested in this phenomenon.”
“Oh? I can see why a few of the more sophisticated ones, such as yourself —”
“Thank you, master. It always warms my capacitors to receive a compliment.”
“— and M334 and his pals would be interested, but why so many?”
“It might be instructive to note that the Robot City head supervisors Rydberg and Euler have taken it upon themselves at every opportunity to ask me many questions on a wide variety of topics about what it’s like to be around a human for an extended period. In fact, they have grilled me quite rigorously on the matter.”
“They’ve done what?”
“Grilled me. Their parlance — derived from the dialogue of ancient cinema shows, I believe, which they watch to teach them something of the beings they believed they are implicitly programmed to serve.”
“Oh? Just what have you told them about me?”
“About you, very little in particular. Their line of questioning was more general than that.”
“Now I’m not sure if I should be relieved or not.”
“I am convinced whatever decision you make will be the best one for you. In any case, I told them that one of the more unusual aspects of human existence is how things vary from day to day, that as circumstances and environmental factors change, so does the personal outlook of the human in question.
Every day that something unexpected happens, however small and ultimately insignificant, is a day devoid of boredom. Evidently a continuous newness of experience is important for the continued mental health and well-being of a human individual. The degree of interest these robots have in this building might be due to the very fact that it is new, and they want to discover for themselves just what this concept of ‘newness’ is all about.”
“I see,” said Derec, nodding to himself. He had stopped to wait for another group to make way, but instead of releasing the brake and gunning the accelerator, he pulled the scooter over to the side of a building and parked it. “Come on, Mandelbrot, let’s take a walk.”
“Forgive me, master, but I thought you were in a rush.”
“Well, either the enlightenment I’ve gained from your answers has enabled me to come to grips with circumstances — or else I’ve decided we can make faster time by simply going with the flow. Take your pick.”
But after taking only a few steps, Derec stopped as he sensed a curious nothingness at his side. Indeed, Mandelbrot had not yet begun to keep pace with him. The robot had remained stand
ing beside the sidecar with his head tilted at a curious angle, as if deep in thought. “Mandelbrot? What’s keeping you?”
The robot shook his head as if aroused from a dream. “Forgive me, master, I did not mean to detain you. It is merely that, lacking sufficient information, I cannot choose why we are walking.”
Derec rolled his eyes to the sky in exasperation; the clouds glowed bright red, as if the planet were inexorably Calling toward a giant star. “Both are why, Mandelbrot. I was just making a little joke — trying to be ironic; humorous, if you will.”
“Humor and irony are two subjective qualities of the human experience that never cease to confuse me.
You must explain them to me sometime.”
“A pun is the lowest form of humor — and I will devise some way to punish you if you don’t hurry! Now let’s go!”
Derec was a little upset; his remark had come out unintentionally disagreeable, and he disliked being temperamental with robots. He could never shake the feeling that it was bad form. But he had to admit his inadvertent chastisement had two effects on Mandelbrot, one good and the other bad. The good was that for the next few minutes Mandelbrot did not waver from Derec’s side for a moment. The bad was that Mandelbrot continued to ask about the subtleties of humor until Derec had no choice but to forbid him directly to speak of the matter until later. How much later was something Derec neglected to specify, which meant that Mandelbrot could bring up the joke again at practically any time. Derec trusted that the robot’s perceptual programming would permit him to wait until deviations from the subject at hand were less exasperating.
The crowd in the square facing the building was as tightly packed as any Derec had ever experienced.
He did not know this in his mind, because of course he could not remember the crowds he may have seen or been in during his dim, unremembered past. Instead, he felt the certain knowledge in the tightness in his chest, in the unfamiliar sensation of his skin squirming, and in a sudden urge — one difficult to control — to get out, to flee the square as quickly as possible and find a place where it would be easier to breathe.
