Foundation’s Friends

by Ben Bova

  “That seems likely.”

  “But I wasn’t in any real risk! I could have jumped up from that slab of ice five seconds before hitting bottom, and landed like jumping off a table!”

  “The robot didn’t know your limits. It saw the basic action; you were protecting another being, and, I suggest, interpreted that as First Law behavior. The most obvious difference between the two of you was helmet color. The conclusion may have been tentative, if the thing is intelligent enough be that scientific, but it was supported later.”

  “You trusted human lives to your own guess, then. How does that fit with First Law?” asked Luis.

  “I did not. The lives were already at risk through no fault of mine. I told you the best action I could suggest at the time,” answered Chile. “I also implied that it would be unnecessary; I used the conditional. “ Luis blinked, thinking back.

  “It’s one of those old-fashioned happy endings!” Chispa laughed. “We really have found proof of alien life, and when Chile, or maybe Chile and Dumbo between them, have worked out this machine’s code, we’ll know everything it’s learned about Miranda in however long it’s been here. Nobel prizes all around. And all the romance anyone could want.” She moved closer to Luis; then, just visibly to the others through her face plate, glanced at Sheila. “Well…” Her voice trailed off.

  A snort, recognizably Ling’s, sounded in their helmets.

  “If I’ve been that obvious, forget it. There’s such a thing as self-respect.” He made another, less describable sound.

  “I can stand self-respect, even when it slops over into conceit,” Sheila said quietly. “It’s much better than hinting. How about ‘Rorschach’ for a team name?”

  “Why be subtle? ‘Blot’ is more euphonious. But I’ll go with anything you like. What, except for wasted time, is in a-”

  “And maybe the folks who set up this station will be back soon!” interrupted Chispa merrily.

  The Fourth Law of Robotics

  by Harry Harrison

  The secretary surged to her feet as I rushed by her desk.

  “Stop! You can’t go in there! This is Dr. Calvin’s office!”

  “I know,” I demurred. “That’s why I am here.”

  Then I was through the door and it closed behind me. Dr. Calvin looked up and frowned at me through her reading glasses.

  “You seem in quite a hurry, young man.”

  “I am, Dr. Calvin, I am-” My words ground to a halt like an old Victrola with a busted spring. With her glasses off Dr. Calvin’s eyes were limpid pools of unfulfilled desire. Her figure, despite the lab gown, could not be disguised in its pulchritude.

  “Did you look at my great-aunt in that steamy-eyed way, Dr. Donovan?” She smiled.

  “No, no, of course not!” I stammered, rubbing my hand across my iron-gray hair. Or rather my bald skull fringed by iron-gray hair. And realized my mistake. “I was not looking at you in any particular way, Dr. Calvin.” She smiled warmly at that and an ache passed through every fiber of my being. I grabbed my mind by the neck and shook it, remembering my pressing errand. “I have a pressing errand, which is why I have burst into your office like this. I have reason to believe that a robot has just held up a bank.”

  Well, as you might very well imagine, that got her attention. She dropped back into her chair, her eyes opened wide, she gasped, and I could see the sweat spring to her brow and the slight tremor of her hand.

  “I can guess that you are a little surprised by this news,” I said.

  “Not at all,” she sussurated. “It had to happen one day. Tell me about it. “

  “I will do better-I will show you.”

  I slipped the security camera ‘s visivox recording into the projector on her desk and thumbed it to life. One end of her office appeared to vanish, to be replaced by the interior of a financial establishment. Tellers dispensed money and services to attendant customers.

  “I don’t see any holdup,” she said sweetly.

  “Wait,” I cozened. Then the revolving door revolved and a man came into the bank. He was dressed in black from head to toe-black raincoat, black fedora hat, even black gloves and dark glasses. Even more interesting was the fact that when he turned to face the hidden camera, it could be seen that his features were concealed by a black ski mask. I saw that I had all of Dr. Calvin’s attention now.

  We watched as he walked to the nearest free window. The teller looked up and smiled.

  “May I help you?” he asked, the smile fading as he looked at the sinister figure before him.

  “You may,” the man said in a woman’s clear contralto voice as he took a hand grenade from his pocket and held it out. Then pulled the pin and let the pin drop to the floor. “This is a hand grenade,” the lovely voice said.

  “And I have pulled and discarded the pin. If I open my hand now the lever will fly off. Three seconds after release a hand grenade will explode. This kind of explosion tends to have a deleterious effect on people. Now I, for one, do not want this to happen and-I am just guessing?-I feel that you don’t want this to happen, either. Would you like to keep my hand closed? Just nod. That’s fine. Then we agree. Now I’ll bet that you think it is a really hunky-dory idea to take all of the money from your cash drawer, place it in this bag, and pass it back to me. How nice-you do think that it is a good idea. Very good! You have a nice day, hear.”

  With this parting jest the man turned and strode across the bank. He was almost at the exit when the teller shouted a warning and alarm bells sounded.

  What happened next was terrible. Unbelievable. Yet it happened. The thief turned and dropped the hand grenade, turned back and sprang at the revolving door, and pushed his way clear in the brief time before the grenade exploded.

  “Close your eyes if you don’t want to watch,” I said.

  “I can watch,” Dr. Calvin said grimly.

  There was a burst of smoke from the grenade-and it emitted a shrill scream and a cloud of sparkling stars as it spun about. Then the shriek died away into silence, the fireworks stopped.

  “It did not explode,” she observed.

  “Quite correct.”

  “And why do you assume that the thief was a robot? Because the figure appeared to be male yet he spoke with a female voice?”

  “That was my first clue. Robot voice simulators are so perfect these days that to the casual ear they are perfect. Only computer analysis can pinpoint the artificial signal generation. So a robot can speak with a soprano or a bass voice.”

  “And this one dressed as a man and used a woman’s voice. But why? To cause confusion?”

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps-just as a joke.”

  Dr. Calvin’s eyes widened and a trace of a smile touched her lips and was gone. “That is an intriguing thought, Dr. Donovan. Do go on. “

  “This was my first clue as to the thief’s identity. But I needed more evidence. I found it-here. “

  I touched the controls of the visivox and the action slowed. The masked figure turned to the revolving door, pushed and exited. The action repeated over and over.

  “This is the vital clue. I had the revolving door removed and had it weighed. The entire unit weighs two hundred and thirty kilos. I then had the computer estimate the force needed to get it to reach this speed in this time for varying amounts of pressure. Watch the green computer trace now. This is the maximum pressure that can be exerted by a fifty-kilo woman working her hardest.”

  The green trace appeared in the air-ending well behind the image of the moving door.

  “Interesting,” Dr. Calvin observed. “Voice or not, that was not a woman. “

  “Exactly. Now the blue trace you see coming up would be that of a seventy-five-kilo man. Next the orange trace of a hundred-kilo man of exceptional strength. “

  This trace, like all of the others, ended well behind the image of the moving door, being pushed around by the hand of the bank robber. I actuated the controls again and a red trace appeared that swung out fat ahead of
the others and ended at the moving door.

  “The red trace,” she said. “Tell me about it.”

  “That trace represents the amount of energy needed to accelerate that door from a zero-motion state to the speed it reached to permit the thief to exit with the money in the time observed. I can give you the foot-pounds or meter-kilograms if you wish-”

  “Just roughly. How much energy?”

  “Enough to lift that desk-and you as well-one meter into the air. “

  “I thought so. As strong as an hydraulic ram. And well beyond the abilities of a human being.”

  “But well within the abilities of a robot.”

  “Point taken-and proven, Dr. Donovan. So what do you suggest that we do next?”

  “Firstly-I suggest that we do not inform the police.”

  “Withholding information from the authorities is a crime.”

  “Not necessarily. So far we have only assumptions and no real evidence. We could take this guesswork to the police if that is your decision. Then we must consider the fact that we are making public information that might be considered derogatory toward the public image of U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men, Inc., information that would affect the price of its stocks, affect our bonuses and retirement plans-”

  “There is no need to go on. We will keep this development quiet for the moment. Now what do we do next?”

  “That’s a good question. Since all robots manufactured by us are leased and not sold, we could try to trace this one. “

  Dr. Calvin’s eyebrows climbed skyward at this rash assumption.

  “Isn’t that a rather rash assumption?” she asked. “Do you know how many robots we have manufactured-that are still functioning? And all of our production for the past two decades-except for special-function units-are roughly equivalent in bulk to a human being.”

  “All right, so we scratch that idea,” I muttered testily. “Maybe we are barking up the wrong drainpipe. The bank robber might be just a very strong man-and not a robot at all. After all, the robber did threaten the teller’s life-a violation of the First Law of Robotics. A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.”

  She shook her head firmly. “There were no threats involved. As I recall it the thief just stated facts like, this is a hand grenade, I have pulled and discarded the pin. No threats or danger implied. Try again.”

  “I will,” I said through tight-clamped teeth. Like her namesake aunt she was a giant of logical thought processes. “The Second Law then. A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law. “

  “No orders were given that I recall. It all went smoothly and quickly-so quickly that the teller had no time to speak. And I think that you will agree that the Third Law is not relevant, either. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law. I think it might be said that we are back at square A. Any more suggestions?”

  She asked this ever so sweetly but there was a steel gauntlet in her voice inside the velvet glove.

  “I’ll think of something,” I muttered, although my brain was as empty of ideas as a vacuum flask.

  “Might I make a suggestion?”

  “Of course!”

  “Let us turn this problem on its head. Let us stop asking ourselves if this was a robot and how or why the crime was done. Let us assume there is a criminal robot at large. If this is true we must find it. We cannot take our problem to the police, for the moment, for the reasons Just discussed. Therefore we must take this to a specialist-”

  She frowned demurely as the desk annunciator buzzed, stabbed down the button angrily. “Yes?”

  There is a gentleman here who says you are expecting him. He says that he is a specialist in clandestine investigations.

  My own jaw echoed the gasping drop in hers. “Send him in,” she murmured weakly.

  He was tall, well-built, his handsome face tanned to a teak finish. “Jim diGriz is the name,” he said. “I am here to help you people with your problem.”

  “What makes you think that we have a problem?” I asked weakly.

  “Logic. Before going into investigation work I had rather a personal interest in banks, robberies, that sort of thing. When I caught the report on the recent robbery I mosied down to the bank in question, just for old times’ sake. As soon as I saw that one of the revolving doors was missing I knew that a robot had pulled the heist.”

  “But how?” Dr. Calvin gasped.

  “That door would be of no importance if a human had committed the robbery. Who cares how fast or slow or in what manner a robber exits? A human thief. But if a male robber speaking with a woman’s voice exited in an unusual manner-there can be only one logical answer. A robot did it.”

  “So you came here at once,” I said quickly before he could speak again. “Figuring that if a robot was involved, it would be of concern to us.”

  “Bang on, baby. I also figured that you would want a discreet inquiry without police involvement that would be publicized and would have-how shall I phrase it?-a deleterious effect on your stock prices. I’ll find your robot for you. My fee is a quarter of a million dollars, half payable now.”

  “Preposterous! An insult!” I huffed.

  “Shut up,” Dr. Calvin suggested, scribbling her signature on a check and pushing it over to diGriz. “I have a special emergency account just for this sort of thing. You have twenty-four hours to find that robot. If you should fail to discover the robot in this period of time, you will be arrested on a charge of extortion. “

  “I like your style, Dr. Calvin.” He grinned, folding the check and popping it into his vest pocket. “You will have the robot-or the cash back.”

  “Agreed. Dr. Donovan will accompany you at all times.”

  “I’m used to working alone,” he said, grimacing.

  “You have a new partner. You find the robot. At that point he will take over. Twenty-four hours;”

  “You drive a mean bargain, Doc. Twenty-four hours. Come on, pard.”

  He raised a quizzical eyebrow at me as we left and went down the hall. “Since we are in this together,” he observed, “we might as well be friends. My first name is James.”

  “My first name is Doctor.”

  “Aren’t we being a little stuffy, Doc?”

  “Perhaps,” I relented. “You can call me Mike.”

  “Great, Mike. You can call me Jim. Or Slippery Jim as I am sometimes called. “

  “Why?”

  “A long story that I may tell you sometime. Meanwhile let’s find that robot. Cab!”

  I jumped at his shout, but he was not shouting at me but hailing a passing cab. It braked to a stop and we climbed in.

  “Take us to the corner of Aardvark and Sylvester.”

  “No way, buddy,” the porcine cabby insisted. “The bums there will rip off my hubcaps if I even slow down. I ain’t going no closer than the corner of Dupont.”

  “Is this wise?” I queried. “That’s a pretty rough neighborhood. “

  “With me there you’ll be as safe as if you were in church. Safer-since there are no fundamentalists down there.”

  Despite his reassurances I was most reluctant to get out of the cab and follow him down Sylvester Street. Every city has a neighborhood like this. Where everything is for sale, pushers lurk on street corners, and violence hangs in the miasmic atmosphere.

  “I like it here,” Jim said, sniffing the air with flared nostrils. “My kind of place.”

  With a snarl of unrepressed rage a man hurled himself from a doorway, knife raised-striking down!

  I don’t know what Jim did-but I do know that it was very fast. There was a thud of fist on flesh, a yike of pain. And the attacker fell unconscious to the filthy sidewalk. Jim held the knife now as he walked on. And he had not even broken his pace as he had disposed of the attacker!

  “Cheap and dull,” he said, glowering at t
he knife. He snapped the blade with his fingers and dropped the pieces into the noisome rubble of the gutter. “But at least we know we are in the right neighborhood. What we need now is an informant-and I think that I see just the man.”

  The individual in question was standing next to the entrance to a low bar. He was burly and heavily bearded, dressed in a plain purple suit with puce stripes. He glowered at us as we approached and pulled at the gold earring pendant from one filthy and hairy ear.

  “Buying or selling?” he grunted.

  “Buying,” Jim said grimly.

  “Girls, dope, boys, hot money, parrots, or little woolly dogs?”

  “Information.”

  “A hundred smackers in front.”

  “Here.” The bills changed hands quickly. “I’m looking for a robot. “

  “We don’t allow no robots down here. “

  “Give me my hundred bucks back. “

  “No way, buster. Get lost.”

  There was a sudden crunching sound followed by a moan of pain as our informant found his arm behind his back and his face pressed to the filthy bricks of the wall.

  “Speak!” Jim ordered.

  “Never…even if you break my arm I ain’t singing! Dirty Dan McGrew ain’t a squealer. “

  “That is what you think,” my companion said. Something metallic glinted in his hand, was pressed to the criminal’s side. I saw the hypodermic being withdrawn as the man slumped. “Speak!” Jim ordered.

  “I hear and obey, oh master.”

  “A potent drug-as you can see.” Jim smiled. “Where is the robot?”

  “Which robot?”

  “Any robot, moron!” Jim snapped.

  “There are many robots barricaded in the old McCutcheon warehouse.”

  “What are they doing there?”

  “Nothing good, I am sure. But no one has been able to get inside. “

  “Not until now,” Jim suggested as he let go of our informant, who dropped unconscious to the filthy ground. “Let’s go to the warehouse.”

  “Is that wise?’. I demurred.

  “There’s only one way to find out!” He laughed. I did not. I was not at all happy about all this. I am a scientist, not a detective. and all of this was not my style. But what else could I do? The answer to that was pretty obvious. Nothing. I had to rely on my companion and hope that he was up to the challenge. But-hark! What was that sound?