by Isaac Asimov
“No, no. I really do believe there are some things a robot was not meant to know.”
“Do I have your permission to ask Miss Ariel the same question?”
“Not before I ask her something slightly similar.” He took Harry by the arm and began leading him toward the door. “Now I’ve got to get you out of here. Lucius is due, and I’d like to talk to him alone, if you don’t mind.”
“Sir, how could I possibly do that?” Harry asked.
“Just a figure of speech,” said Derec, reaching for the doorknob. But before he had a chance to touch it, the door opened from the other side.
Ariel, her hair dripping wet and her suit clinging to her body, came running into the house. “There you are!” she exclaimed.
“Don’t you ever knock?” Derec asked angrily, then calmed down when he realized something serious was the matter. Besides, of course she didn’t have to knock. She lived here, too. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, of course. Wolruf and I found, ah....”
“Well? Out with it!” exclaimed Derec.
“I was at the reservoir this morning,” she said haltingly. “Uh, I was in the reservoir, and I felt something strange. It was Lucius. His positronic brain had been partially destroyed.”
“What did you say?” asked Derec as the room began to spin.
“Lucius has been deliberately sabotaged. To the utmost degree. You might even say he’s been murdered.”
“Ridiculous,” said Harry calmly. “Only an outsider would have committed such a deed, and that’s impossible. The city would have responded to an alien presence.”
“Not necessarily,” said Derec, thinking of Doctor Avery, who kept an office here, and whose arrival surely would not activate the city’s automatic warning devices.
“It’s no accident,” said Ariel firmly. “I think you’ll agree. Wolruf is supervising the robots who are bringing the, ah, body over here. Then you’ll both see for yourselves.”
“One of you must know more,” said Harry. “A robot would not willingly harm another robot. Only you two and the alien are suspects.”
Derec rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “No, there is no law actually dictating that a robot shall not do violence to another robot. In fact, a robot would have no choice if he truly believed harm would come to a human as a result of his omission of action.” He glanced at Ariel. “Where’s Mandelbrot? Wolruf?”
“Supervising the robots carrying the body here,” she said.
“Harry, please leave immediately. We’ll finish our talk later.”
“All right,” said the robot, walking through the door. “Though I feel obligated to warn you: You have not perceived my presence for the last time!”
“Is that robot for real?” asked Ariel after it was gone.
“I’m afraid so,” Derec replied. “Are you certain that we’re dealing with a deliberate case of deactivation here — not an accident of some sort?”
“No — but, Derec, Lucius’s face was struck in several places. It certainly looked deliberate to me, as if someone wanted to ensure it couldn’t be identified.”
“Which is impossible, because most of its parts contain serial numbers, which can be traced.”
“Exactly. So whoever did it must have realized that in mid-act and then thrown Lucius in the reservoir in the hope that it wouldn’t be found. Or, if it was found, it’d be so rusty that most of the serial numbers would be obscured.”
“And unless we’ve an unidentified intruder — which seems unlikely — a robot was responsible.”
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
Derec nodded. “Absolutely. What were you doing in the reservoir?”
Ariel blushed, though Derec couldn’t tell if it was from anger or embarrassment. “I was taking a swim.”
“Fully dressed? Say, you’ve been losing weight, haven’t you?” he asked, looking her over with wide eyes.
“You’ll never know. Derec, how can you be flip at a time like this? To lose Lucius —”
“So early in his career, I know. The galaxy has been robbed of a great artist, I fear. Tragic. Simply tragic. I have to laugh, Ariel. It’s the only way I can deal with it, and right now I don’t care if you understand or not! Now be quiet and let me think!”
Ariel blinked in surprise, and jerked her head back as if he had taken a swipe at her. But she did as he wished.
Derec stared at the wall and tried to remember when he and Mandelbrot had parted company with Lucius. There had been a few hours remaining until the dawn. Had Lucius said anything about where it was going or what it was going to do? Nothing in particular that Derec could recall, just that it was going to close down for a few hours before beginning work on its next project. No, there wouldn’t be any clues; Lucius certainly couldn’t have predicted or even suspected that it would be murdered.
Hmm, can you call the shutdown of a robot “murder”? Derec asked himself. Or is murder too strong a word to use when talking about a machine, regardless of its level of sophistication?
A few moments later, however, Derec realized he wasn’t ruminating on the incident so much as he was repressing a profound sense of outrage. During their few hours together, Lucius had begun to mean something special to him. True, there was the possibility that he was overreacting because of his already well established affinity for robots, but throughout his short life that he could remember, he had demonstrated a special appreciation for intelligent life in all its manifestations.
Lucius was a robot, Derec thought. But I fear I shall never see its like again.
Derec realized after the fact that he had paraphrased a line from Shakespeare’s Hamlet. This reminded him of the promise he had made to Lucius, and he mulled over the implications of this promise for long minutes after Mandelbrot and Wolruf had escorted the robots carrying Lucius inside, after they had lain Lucius on a table. Evidently Mandelbrot or Ariel must have ordered the robots to depart, because Derec never recalled giving such an order.
For a while, as he looked at the battered and distorted face, Derec hoped he would discover that it was a dreadful mistake, that it really wasn’t Lucius there after all, but some other robot. But the size was right.
The model was right. The color was right. The unique identifying features that all city robots possessed to some degree were right. But most of all, the feeling in Derec’s gut was right.
Lucius was indeed dead. Murdered. The logic circuits of its positronic brain had been removed with precision. But the personality integrals had been left in the brain cavity, left to be permanently damaged in the reservoir. So Lucius’s unique abilities at logic might still exist, but the interaction between brain and body would probably never again be achieved. The personality was gone forever.
“Excuse me, everyone,” Derec said, actually aware that his friends were staring at him, waiting for his reaction. “I’d like to be alone with Lucius for a few moments.”
And then, after they had left, Derec cried. He cried in pity and remorse, not for Lucius, but for himself.
This was the first time he could remember having cried. When he finished, he felt only marginally better, but he had some idea of what he had to do, and who to look to for an answer.
Derec found the ebony at the place he had come to think of as Circuit Breaker Square. Other robots of various models and intelligence levels stood around the building, watching its colors reflect the sunlight in muted shades. Occasionally, reflections thrown off by the smooth planes glittered against the robots and the other buildings. The overall effect of Circuit Breaker was more restrained in the sunlight. Doubtlessly that, too, had been part of Lucius’s plan, to permit the building to become controllable and hence “safer”
in the day, while the night unleashed its true energies. He would have to find out upon what principle the solar batteries worked.
That was another question Lucius would no longer be able to answer personally; however interesting it was on the purely scientific level, it did not seem especially i
mportant in light of recent events.
The ebony stood at the edge of the perimeter. Its head never turned to the building; it was watching the other robots instead, as if it was searching for some meaning in their activity. Or lack of it, as the case was. The ebony stood straight and tall, with barely a nuance Derec could call remotely human. It was easy for him to imagine a black cape hanging from the ebony’s shoulders, easier still to imagine it standing on a hilltop and glaring in defiance at a gathering storm.
Blow wind. and crack your cheeks, Derec thought, recalling a line from King Lear.
Trying his best to look casual, as if he were simply taking a stroll, Derec walked to the ebony and said,
“Excuse me, but didn’t I see you here last night?”
“It is possible, master,” replied the ebony, bowing its head and shoulders slightly as if to take note of the human’s presence for the first time.
“With all the other robots?”
“I was in the square, but my circuits do not acknowledge the fact that I was with the other robots.”
“I see by your insignia and model that you are a supervisor robot.”
“That is true.”
“Exactly what are your duties?” Derec asked casually.
With an almost stately turn of its head, the ebony turned toward Circuit Breaker and waited until the length of the silence between them became quite long — deliberately, for a kind of dramatic effect, it seemed to Derec. An answer was intended, but so was a space of waiting. Derec began to get a seriously queasy feeling in his stomach.
Finally, the ebony said, “My duties are floating. I am programmed to ascertain what needs to be done and then to do it or otherwise see to it.”
“All of this is up to your discretion?”
“I am a duly designated rogue operative. The city requires a certain amount of random checks if it is to run at peak efficiency. If a machine breaks down gradually, the supervisor on the spot might not notice because it is there during every tour of duty. It would get used to the situation, would not even realize something was amiss, whereas I, with my extra-keen memory banks and an eye capable of perceiving individual levels of meta-cells, would notice it immediately.”
“Once you actually look at the problem, that is.”
“Of course. I doubt even a human can fix a machine before he knows if and where it has been broken.”
“Don’t underestimate us.”
“I shall strive not to. Do not think, sir, that my sole function is to act as mechanical troubleshooter. My tasks vary, depending upon the situation. Often central calls on me to provide visual and cognitive assistance if there is some problem with robotic efficiency — not that my comrades ever function at less than their peak, but because sometimes they cannot be certain that they are directing their energies to the best advantage of all.”
“So you’re a problem solver! You help devise solutions to the unforeseen shortcomings in central’s program!”
Derec leaned against a building and saw Circuit Breaker weave back and forth like a balloon hung up in a breeze. He felt like someone had hit him on the back of the skull with a lug wrench. His lungs felt like paper. His ankles felt like the bones had turned into rubber putty. At first he was too stunned to loathe the ebony, but that feeling grew and grew, as he leaned there and tried to get his thoughts straight.
This robot has got to make decisions, Derec thought. The very nature of its job calls for analytical creativity! It could have viewed Circuit Breaker as so revolutionary to the robotic psyche that it constituted an obstacle to the laborers’ duties. And then... then the ebony would have been forced to do something about Lucius.
There’s nothing in the Three Laws about a robot being forbidden to harm another robot. In fact.
First Law situations and Second Law orders may require it.
This is not proof, though.
For a moment Derec wondered what he would do once he had the proof. He would have to keep the ebony — or whichever robot the murderer was — functional for a time until the mechanics as well as the psychology had been checked for anomalies. The question of what came next would have to be decided after all the facts were in. It was possible that the ebony couldn’t help itself.
Just as it was also possible that the Three Laws had been a significant factor, that once the ebony had embarked on a course of logic, it had followed it rigorously to an end predestined for tragedy.
“Tell me,” Derec said, making an effort to stand up straight, “do you ever take the initiative when it comes to identifying problems?”
“If you mean can I pinpoint a potential glitch before central is aware, then the answer is yes. Those occasions, however, are quite rare and often quite obvious.”
“They’re obvious if you’re not central.”
“Sir?”
“And do you ever take the initiative in solving problems?”
“I have, and central has had to fine-tune them, too.”
“But not all the time.”
“I see I must be exact about this. Central has only fine-tuned three out of forty-seven of my solutions.
Have I satisfied you so far with my answers, sir?”
“Forty-seven? That’s a lot of problems, and those are only the ones you found on your own.”
“Robot City is young, sir. There will doubtlessly be many glitches in the system before the city is operating at one hundred percent efficiency.”
“And you’re certainly going to do your bit, aren’t you?”
“I can do nothing else, sir.”
Derec nodded. “I see. By the way, what’s your name?”
“Canute.”
“Tell me, Canute, how would you rate-efficiency-wise — a robot that deliberately took it upon itself to disconnect a comrade?”
“Sir, it would have to be seriously examined. Though of course it is possible that the First or Second Law would permit such an action. “.
“Are you aware that someone, presumably a robot, brutally disconnected Lucius last night? Damaged him beyond all hope of repair?”
“Of course I am aware. News travels fast over the comlink.”
“So you heard about it from other robots first?”
“Sir, why not ask me outright if I was the robot responsible? You know I am forbidden to lie.”
Canute’s words were like a bucket of cold water thrown into Derec’s face. Their forthrightness startled him. “I — I — how did you know I was leading up to that?”
“It seemed obvious from your line of questioning.”
“I see you have advanced deductive abilities.”
“It is a prerequisite for my line of work.”
Hmmm. I think you just may be the kind of robot I need, Derec thought. Putting aside his feelings for Lucius with a force of will, he thought of Ariel, and of the possibility that Canute, who made its intuitive leaps from a solidly practical framework, would be just the one to help him diagnose and cure her disease. Once its mental frames of reference could be adjusted, that is.
The trick would be to get it to readjust — to admit the gravity of its error — without causing positronic burnout in the process. For in that eventuality, Canute wouldn’t be able to repair a paper clip.
So the direct approach was out. Besides, Derec had a promise to keep.
“Canute, you may find this hard to believe, but I’ve been looking for a model like you.”
“Sir?”
“Yes, I have a specific type of building in mind that I’d like to see erected nearby. I’d also like it as permanent as possible. I think its presence will do much to enrich life here in Robot City.”
“Then I am eager to do whatever you ask. What type of building did you have in mind?”
“An open-air theatre — a playhouse. I’ll give you the details later, but I want to see functional elaboration in the design. I want you to generate your notions of some of the details. In fact, I insist on it.
Understand?”
“Yes,” said Canute, lowering its head slightly. “May I ask why you want to have a theatre erected?”
“Have you ever heard of Hamlet?”
Chapter 6
THE WORLD OF THE PLAY
CANUTE WAS RIGHT about one thing: news travels fast at comlink speed. Returning from Circuit Breaker Square to his quarters, Derec hadn’t even gotten through the door before Mandelbrot began talking.
“Master, where have you been? I have been besieged by requests to assist you in your latest project. I fear that, lacking sufficient information, I was forced to tell everyone to wait. I hope that was all right.”
“It was,” said Derec, lying down on the couch. “Where’s Ariel?”
“She went to her room. She mumbled something about mopping up on her Shakespeare.”
“I think you mean brushing up.”
“If you say so.”
“You’re not very comfortable with human idioms, are you, Mandelbrot?”
“I can be neither comfortable nor uncomfortable conversing with them. But I take you to mean it is sometimes difficult for me to translate their peculiar surface meanings in practical terms. For instance, how do you brush up someone who is ancient history? In that respect, I do sometimes have problems communicating. But about this project....”
“All right, I’ll tell you. But wait — where’s Wolruf?”
“With Miss Ariel. I think Wolruf is performing some task. Forgive me if I am again misphrasing it, but she is being Miss Ariel’s line coach.”
“Ssh. Quiet. Listen.”
And Derec heard, very softly, through the closed door, Ariel speaking the words, “Oh, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown! The courtier’s, soldier’s, scholar’s, eye, tongue, sword; the expectancy and rose of the fair state, the glass of fashion and the mould of form, the observed of all observers, is, er, ah —”
“Kwei-it,” said Wolruf in a low volume that wasn’t hushed enough to be called a whisper, but was probably as close to one as she could manage.
