by Isaac Asimov
They were children of the gods, who frequently played pranks on the tribes and often figured prominently in a mythic hero’s adventures.”
Derec nodded. He really didn’t know what to make of all this. His mind was already too full trying to understand these robots, and at the moment he didn’t think he could assimilate much information about Wolruf’s people. “Listen, I’m feeling a little claustrophobic; and besides, I don’t think we can learn anything else here, anyway.”
“Why learn?” asked Ariel. “Why not just enjoy?”
“I’ve already done that.”
“You just say that because you’ve always liked to pretend you’re an intellectual.”
Derec raised an inquisitive eyebrow and stared hard at her, a hundred questions suddenly plaguing his mind. How could she know he liked to pretend? Pretend what? Was she referring to their supposed chance meeting at the spaceport? Presumably the meeting had been brief — too brief for her to be able to infer an “always.”
Derec was naturally overcome with a desire to know, but the innocent way she had made the remark cautioned him.
She probably hadn’t been aware of the implications. If he quizzed her now, she might become too careful; he could gain more information from her in the long run if she felt free to speak casually.
“Master? Master?”
Mandelbrot was speaking. “What is it?” Derec answered.
“I recall you had expressed an interest in the individual responsible for this creation.”
“Yes, that’s true,” said Derec excitedly, suddenly forgetting how he had been disconcerted by Ariel’s implication.
Mandelbrot shaped his malleable hand into the form of an arrow and pointed it toward the edge of the square. “Then I suggest you take a walk in that direction, where those robots are gathered.”
“Thanks, Mandelbrot. I’ll see you in a minute.” Derec smiled weakly and nodded at the hand. “A nice touch,” he whispered. He walked toward the area indicated — a place where the robots were packing themselves tightly indeed. Those who weren’t speaking on the comlink circuit — a means through which they could communicate more fully and faster — spoke loudly, perhaps in deference to the humans present, but then perhaps not. It was another question Derec would have to find the answer to.
“Hey! Wait for me!” Ariel called out.
“But not forr me,” said Wolruf. “Don’t like crrrowds.”
Derec turned and waited for Ariel to catch up. ‘This is the second time tonight I’ve had to wait for you.
What took you so long to get here earlier?”
“Oh, I took a turn too fast and capsized my scooter. Wolruf and I weren’t hurt, just shaken up a bit. I think my body’s covered with black-and-blues though.”
“Oh? You’ll have to let me take a look at them later.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“I meant in a purely medical sense.” Though he never cared to limit himself, he thought. “How’s your scooter?”
“Totaled, of course,” she said, shrugging nonchalantly.
The robots in the crowd ahead were gathered about a single robot. At first Derec and Ariel couldn’t see what he looked like.
Ariel tapped a short builder robot on the shoulder. It turned around. As fate would have it, it was Harry.
“Please, let us pass,” she said, being neither particularly polite nor impolite.
“If you wish,” said Harry, dutifully stepping away, “but I would appreciate it if you would refrain from seriously displacing me. I can barely receive everything as it is.”
Ariel’s eyes widened in shock, but Derec couldn’t resist smiling. “I’d like to perform an exploratory scan on you,” he said to the robot, “at your convenience. Would tomorrow morning — first thing — be acceptable?”
“Perhaps it is a good thing that you want to scan me,” Harry said. “It so happens tomorrow morning is convenient. But might I ask the reason why you must play mechanic so soon — or why select me from all the other robots in the city?”
“Hmmm. I bet people always say much the same thing to their human doctors. Don’t worry. Your personality integrals won’t be fiddled with.”
“A sorely tempting prospect,” put in M334.
The sudden interruption startled Derec; he had almost forgotten about the other two. “Forgive me,” he said, “but was that an attempt at sarcasm?”
“I have been ruthlessly studying all the tricks,” M334 replied. “Ridicule, dramatic irony, hyperbole, and I stand ready to put them at your service at a moment’s notice, sir.”
“No, thank you,” Ariel said, smiling, “he’s armed well enough on his own.”
M334 shook its head.,. A pity. But no doubt there shall soon come a human to this planet who has need of my services. Perhaps I shall one day even be permitted to be a valet in the diplomatic corps.”
Benny raised its hand and put it on M334’s shoulder in the same manner it had put it on Harry’s. “Hold the lifepod, comrade, but might I suggest it is too early in the game to conceive of such grandiose goals?”
“Humans do,” said M334. “They design their own buildings, as well.”
Derec instinctively stepped back, as if he feared he would be caught in a sudden explosion. Generally, robots’ philosophical discussions centered around how best to serve humans in the standards dictated by the Three Laws. But both Benny and M334 had been talking about their own interests.
Hmm, but with normal speech, he noted. Is that only automatic, for my benefit, because I happen to be in the vicinity? Or is there some deeper purpose there that I’m unaware of?
Come to think of it, what’s the deeper point of their discussion? They’re doing all this for a reason.
Derec inched forward so that he could hear more easily. But before he could hear their next words, Harry stepped between him and them. Harry had performed the aggressive move as politely as possible, but it was exasperating all the same. “Harry, just what do you think you’re doing?”
“The Third Law of Robotics dictates that I make an inquiry,” he said.
The Third Law states: A robot must protect its own existence as tong as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws. That would explain the action but not the impropriety. Derec sighed in surrender. “Yes, Harry, what is it? No — wait a second. Mandelbrot are you confused by all this?”
“Yes.”
“Then I guess these three are funny.”
“If you are referring to our earlier conversation, yes, they are.”
“Thanks. Yes, Harry. What’s in your positronic brain?”
“Please refrain from misunderstanding me,” Harry said, “but I would severely fail to adjust if some random electronic scan disrupted my carefully assembled philosophy of life.”
“Excuse me — what philosophy of life?” asked Derec, his gut tightening when he realized that, whatever happened next, he had directly asked for it.
“Ever since I was first switched on, I have striven to perform by three rules of life, in addition to the Three Laws.”
“Yes,” said Derec uncertainly, now really dreading the answer.
Harry held out one finger. “Make sure you are closed down for twelve hours of every cycle.” Two fingers. “Never play tri-dimensional chess with a robot that has a planet for a first name.” Three fingers.
“And never quibble with the logic of a robot that has sixteen notches on his beta-thruster.”
Derec stared wide-eyed at the robot in stunned disbelief. “What in the name of the galaxy are you talking about?”
“Humor, as opposed to sarcasm. I was attempting to elicit laughter,” said the robot in unmistakably defensive tones. “Is not humor one of the personality traits we robots must know and understand if we are to serve humanity properly?”
“Uh, not necessarily; in fact, it’s never been done before, at least to my knowledge. But I don’t see how it could hurt — unless the human in question is one of those r
are birds who has no funnybone and hence views laughter as unhealthy or otherwise undesirable.”
“Well, thus far my fellow robots are convinced I have succeeded in the undesirable department. I apologize most abjectly if you find my jokes severely lacking marrow. I promise to do better next time, especially if you help me correct my errors — which, after all, may have absolutely nothing to do with my positronic keenness, but with my delivery instead. Is it possible? How say you?”
“Tomorrow. Tomorrow, first thing. I promise.” Without waiting for a response, Derec took an equally stunned Ariel by the arm and guided her through the crowd separating them from the main object of attention.
“Are that robot’s pathways in the right place?” she whispered.
“If they are, then I suggest we dismantle the entire city first chance we get.”
“Hmmm. Maybe so,” replied Ariel, taking a parting glance at Harry. “If we must, I know exactly where to begin.”
But Derec had already forgotten the matter of Harry and his two comrades, for he was finally getting a good look at the calm center of the commotion: a rather slight supervisor robot — slight despite its dull gray chromium surface, which lent a weighty air to the narrow body. The reflection of the building light on its surface was considerably more lackluster than that of the rest. The robot’s posture indicated that it was uncertain of how to deal with all this attention. Its arms were crossed timidly over its chestplate. Its shoulders slumped as if its spinal structure had been compromised by a defect. Occasionally it straightened, or pointed a finger, but generally its gestures were hesitant, its verbal pauses frequent, and its level of coherence largely a matter of conjecture.
“I fail to understand how you can reach such a conclusion through any sort of logic, however spotty,” it was saying, apparently in reply to a question from a tall ebony robot that, arms crossed, looked down on it as if from a storm cloud. “My pathways have never been clearer. My behavior is as consistent with the spirit of the Three Laws as any robot’s on this planet. Perhaps more so, because I seem to be inherently more cognizant of some of the contradictions inherent in our position.”
The ebony — whose surface was so dark it was permeated with spectral nuances of unrelenting shadow — shivered with something approaching indignation. For a long moment the two stared at one another, and Derec got the uncomfortable feeling that they were sizing up each other.
Derec put his finger to his lips; and when Ariel nodded to show she understood, he stuffed his hands into his back pockets and listened with keen interest.
“Perhaps you believe with the utmost sincerity that you have merely been following your duty as properly behooves a robot,” said the ebony evenly, “but it is not up to you to decide what your duty is, nor is it up to you to take it upon yourself to redesign this city to meet your own specifications. There is something dangerously anarchistic about your attitude.”
“I have done what I have done,” said the gray, looking away with a bearing that, had it been human, Derec could have described as a huff. “I have harmed no robot, no human, and certainly not myself. In fact, if you would care to open your receptors and seek out empirical justification for your opinions, you will see that thus far I have only expanded the awareness of the robots gathered around. Such expansion of perspective can only be positive.”
“You cannot prove that,” replied the ebony at once. “You can only surmise it.”
“One can reasonably assume one is doing the greatest good. True enough, some harm may come from forces one cannot have reasonably predicted, but such a rationale is in and of itself no reason to remain inactive. In any case, the matter is settled for the moment. What is done cannot be undone.”
“All robots can be ordered to forget, and they will!” said the ebony defiantly.
“What I have done is stronger than mere memory,” replied the gray. “What I have done will affect the positronic functioning of every robot that has seen my building. Order them to forget — see if I care.” The gray turned as if to walk away. Instead, it paused and said, “But, I submit, they will be infinitely better off if they do know why. The confusion of forgetfulness can often lead to overload — and hence to disaster.
So how does your suggestion conform to the Three Laws now?”
For a long moment the ebony actually appeared crushed by the question. Then it mustered its posture, took a few steps forward, and put its hand on the chromium robot’s shoulder. staring down at it as if it were looking at a crystal through an electron microscope. The ebony’s eyes were so red that they seemed to be comprised of as many floating divisions of overlaid hues as did the planes of the building.
“Your building is a remarkable conceptual feat,” it said to the gray. “Could it be you directly copied the building from some preexisting design?”
“Forgive me, my friend,” replied the gray, “but my conception simply came to me one afternoon. I responded by making it a reality. I would mention that the central computer would have overridden my instructions if I had requested anything conflicting with city programming.”
“Interesting,” replied the ebony, rubbing its hands together. Derec half expected sparks to fly. “Then how long can we expect this building to stand?”
“Until the central computer is given a direct order to wash it away. Only I know the code; however, I imagine it is barely possible that a sufficiently determined critic could discover it and override it.”
The ebony’s eyes brightened. Derec tensed as he watched the ebony draw itself up to its full height.
“This is madness! Illogic runs rampant! Your deeds have irrevocably cut the pattern of our existence!”
“Not at all,” said the gray demurely. “The building was a logical result of something that had impressed my circuits the wrong way ever since the humans arrived in our city.” For the first time it acknowledged the presence of Derec and Ariel, with a slight bow. “And surely, if my vision is the logical result of the complex interaction of my positronic pathways, then anything I can come up with — and any deed I can accomplish — is a meet and proper activity, especially if it helps robots better understand the behavioral complexities of humans.”
“In that case,” said the ebony, “You shall reprogram central to do away with the building, and then open your brain repository to share your pathway nuances with us. It should never be necessary for you to create again.”
“He shall do no such thing!” exclaimed Derec. “Hear me, ebony, whoever you think you are,” he added, practically poking his finger in the robot’s face. “Until other humans arrive here, or until the engineer who created this city reveals his presence, this building shall remain as long as its — its creator wishes it to stand. This is a direct order and may not be countermanded by central or by anyone else! Do you understand? A direct order! And it shall apply to every robot in the city! There shall be no exceptions!”
The ebony nodded. “As you wish.”
Derec could only assume that the ebony would carry out his orders to the letter. Only an order given by someone in precedence — Dr. Avery, to be precise — or a necessity dictated by the Three Laws would permit the building to be reabsorbed now.
And to emphasize that fact, lest the ebony should strive to pinpoint some logical flaw in the command, Derec ignored all other robots — especially the ebony — in favor of the gray. He turned to him and asked,
“What is your designation?”
“Lucius.”
“Lucius? No number?”
“Like many of my comrades, I recently decided that my former designation was no longer adequate.”
“Yes, there seems to be a lot of that going around lately. All right, Lucius, I think the time has come for you and me to take a little walk.”
“If that is your command,” said Lucius noncommittally.
A few moments later, Derec and his three friends were escorting the robot called Lucius from the square. The vast majority of the robots had returned their atten
tion to the building, but Derec was uncomfortably aware of two red metal eyes glaring at him, as if to bore deep into his soul.
Chapter 3
CIRCUIT BREAKER
NOW THAT HE was walking down the same streets he had ridden the scooter through earlier, Derec took advantage of the slower pace to try to deduce how much the city had changed in the interim.
Complicating the deductions was the fact that his previous speed hadn’t been very accommodating. He’d had only glimpses before, and he wasn’t sure if he was remembering half of them correctly.
But after he’d made allowances for the flaws in his survey, he was convinced that entire buildings had been replaced by new ones in an assortment of geometric designs that, for all their variety, nonetheless possessed a cookie-cutter sameness. In some places, whole blocks had been transformed. However, the streets remained roughly consistent with previous directions, despite the addition of many twisted, almost gnarled turns.
The farther he went from Lucius’s building, the more unexpected diversions there were, in the forms of metalworks, fenced run-off canals, bridges, and power stations. Derec felt fortunate that his talents included a fairly strong sense of direction; otherwise, he would always be forced to rely on robots for navigational purposes. There was nothing wrong with that — robots had an excellent sense of direction — but he couldn’t always assume a robot would be around when his survival depended on it.
But wherever he was, he could always see the distant shards of light shining from Lucius’s building. They stabbed up from the surrounding darkness like ethereal swords rising up from a pit, swords that cut deep into the cloud banks high in the sky. The clouds twisted and rolled, covering new sections of sky, as if the light were stirring an inner fire.
The group with Derec — Ariel, Mandelbrot, Wolruf, and Lucius — walked in silence, as they had been doing for some time. Derec suspected that all of them, even Mandelbrot, required a few minutes lost in their own thoughts to digest what they had seen tonight.
Derec wished it weren’t so difficult to remember so much of his knowledge of galactic histories and customs. Not only had he lost his personal history, but he had forgotten the methods he used to recall things. He’d lost his entire mental filing system, and had to be immersed in doing something, such as fixing a robot, before it came back to him.
