by Isaac Asimov
She seemed to be okay now, though. He figured she might just laugh if he tried to tell her how he felt.
His jaw muscles tightened with the determination to prove what he could do with the computer. He sat down again and started calling up everything he could think of regarding space: records of astronomical observations, spacecraft landings, liftoffs, fly-bys...what else?
The computer gave him nothing on recent soft landings of spacecraft, or crashes. Nor had there been any reported sightings of landed spacecraft. Astronomical observations had not recorded any craft in orbit, either. He had to assume that either the sensors had failed in some way, or that the information was simply lost in the computer.
Food, he thought. The visitors required nutrition. That was still the best lead he had, if he could only think of a way to exploit it.
Ariel walked out of the tunnel stop and located the coordinates of the last sighting of the visitors without any trouble. Her only problem was what to do next. She was in the middle of the city, standing still as a moderately heavy traffic of robots passed her, either on slidewalks or in vehicles.
“Well, what would I do for food here?” she asked herself out loud. “Ask around, I suppose.”
As always, the robots were moving with their single-minded deliberation. The bland buildings reflected that attitude in their austere efficiency of design. No stranger, she reflected, would expect to find food in this neighborhood.
She stopped the nearest robot passing, by calling out, “I am a human who needs questions answered.
Stop.”
The robot stopped.
“Have you seen a robot traveling with a human child?”
“No.”
“Do you know where I might find food?”
“Food. This is the energy source for humans, is it not?”
“Yes. It must be provided in a certain chemical form.”
“I am not familiar with it. I do not know where to locate any. Are you in urgent need of energy?”
“I’m not,” said Ariel, “but I think a small human in the company of a certain robot probably is. Almost definitely. I need to find them before the child starves. That is, runs out of energy.”
“This constitutes a First Law requirement, then. I will help you search for them.”
“Identify.” Ariel suddenly realized that this argument could be used to harness every robot in Robot City.
“I am Courier Foreman 189.”
“You supervise couriers? What do they do?”
“Couriers are function robots that carry small items to specific locations. Objects and distance vary.”
“All right. Listen. You don’t have to interrupt your work at all. Just spread the word to other humanoid robots as you go about your duties that a First Law problem requires their aid in locating a human child in the company of a robot, and also another human wandering around by himself.”
“Understood.”
“And tell them not to include me—I’m Ariel Welsh—or Derec.”
“Understood. I will contact other robots through my comlink.”
“Good! I have to tell Derec about this right away.” Ariel turned and ran for the tunnel stop.
Chapter 9
JUST ONE OF THE CROWD
JEFF DECIDED, AFTER numerous glances back over his shoulder, that he had finally lost his pursuit. He had run blindly, turning corners and dodging behind robots and vehicles and buildings every time he could, before slowing down. He was not out of breath, or even tired, but he was disoriented and scared.
He didn’t know where he was going, or even why he had run. Right now, he just wanted to be alone.
He eyed warily other robots that he passed, but they paid him no particular attention. Either the medical staff had not yet put any word out, or his physical traits carried no designation they could use to identify him. The thought that he would not have to run every minute bolstered his spirits a little. The total lack of humans dampened them again.
The entire situation just didn’t seem real. It was absurd. How could he, Jeff Leong, eighteen years old, recently accepted into college, a healthy and fairly normal Auroran...be a robot?
He walked. He walked straight, turned corners and then found a slidewalk and got on it. With nowhere to go and nothing to do, he just kept walking along the slidewalk.
At first, his senses were still askew. His eyes were not only more sensitive than before, but they seemed to see in a much wider range of the spectrum. He found himself looking at colors, as he termed them, that he had never seen before and had no name for—and they unnerved him. Gradually, he learned to shut out most of the unwanted light waves. The same had occurred with his hearing. It had been so acute at first that all sounds had reached him in a kind of jumble. Then he had been able, by concentrating, to reduce his hearing acuity to a level that felt comfortable. He had been intrigued by the added abilities, but he would have to learn how to control them.
The walking also helped him become more familiar with his new body. It responded smoothly and efficiently, with good balance and control. He couldn’t complain about that. Before long, he had concluded that he was moving enough like the other robots, the real ones, to escape notice.
He also looked over the robots he passed, as nonchalantly as he could, in search of identifying marks.
The robots bore differences, certainly, especially where job-related equipment was concerned on the non-humanoid ones. He saw several distinct but subtle pattern differences repeated on many of the humanoid robots, and guessed they represented minor engineering improvements on robots that had been made or repaired at different times. If they had individual identification, however, he was too much of a stranger here to see it.
Gradually, he found himself moving in a consistent direction. The population seemed denser that way, perhaps toward the center of the urban area. All the robots seemed intent on their own occupations, and he grew more confident that he could lose himself in the crowd.
Yet, he still had nothing to do and nowhere to go.
Ahead of him, through a crowd of robots, he thought he saw a girl, or young woman, emerge from some kind of underground entrance. With a surge of excitement, he quickened his pace and leaned to one side to look between two other robots. When they glanced at him, he straightened in alarm.
He could see her walking the other way. If he wanted to avoid notice, he would have to act with the same deliberate manner as all the robots around him. He lengthened his stride and gave chase without otherwise altering his body language.
Not far ahead, she had stopped to speak to a robot. Jeff slowed down as he approached, and stopped when her back was to him. He was a good distance away by human standards, but after a moment of effort, he was able to sharpen his hearing enough to eavesdrop.
“Identify yourself,” she was saying.
“I am Tunnel Foreman 41,” said the robot.
“I’m Ariel. Please spread the word about the First Law obligation I’ve described.”
“I must,” said Tunnel Foreman 41.
The robot departed and Ariel started to go. Then she saw Jeff watching her, and she paused.
“The First Law?” Jeff asked. He wanted to continue his masquerade as a robot until he knew something about her.
“Yes,” said Ariel. “We’re looking for two people who are probably starving in Robot City. One is a child traveling with a robot and the other is alone. The First Law requires that all robots help locate them.”
“Of course,” said Jeff, suddenly realizing that of course this did not apply to him. He still had his human brain, and the imperative of the Laws was located in the positronic brains of the robots. Yet if he revealed this, his identity would be known to anyone aware of the transplant and his subsequent escape.
“Report any sightings of them to the central computer,” Ariel went on. “Detain them if you can, without violating the Laws. We’ll see that they’re fed.”
“I understand,” said Jeff. He was trying fr
antically to think of a question, anything, to learn more about her without giving himself away.
“Identify,” she said.
“Uh—Tunnel Foreman 12.” He couldn’t risk making up a job, in case she would recognize the fraud.
“Do you know who they are?”
“Why, no.” She looked at him in some surprise. “They just seem to have landed and walked into the city. In fact, if you come across them, find out what you can about their spacecraft.”
“Find out what?”
“Well, where it is, if it’s damaged, what kind it is....” She cocked her head to one side. “None of the other robots have asked these questions.”
Jeff felt the impulse to run wash over him again, but he couldn’t afford to look like a fugitive. He forced himself to remain where he was, searching for something to say.
“Tell me why your responses are different.”
He knew why she had changed her observation to an instruction. Now he, under the Second Law, was required to answer, or else blow his cover if he didn’t. The scarcity of humans in this weird place—the only fact about it that he was sure of—would mean he wouldn’t have to go through this very often.
“I cannot judge the responses of others,” he said, picking his phrases carefully. “My responses are based on a desire to elicit further information that may be of help.”
“Well, all right.” She seemed to accept that.
To forestall another question, he asked one of his own. “What is the importance of the spacecraft?”
“It may well be the only functioning spacecraft on the planet. That’s if it works at all. Now, I have to report some information. You go spread the word, all right?” She gave a little wave and walked away.
Jeff was aching to follow her, but he didn’t dare act any more out of character for a robot than he had already. He watched her until she had turned a corner, then hurried to the corner and watched her departing form as the crowd of robots between them gradually closed her from his view. At least he had had some human contact; she hadn’t been bad-looking, either.
He definitely wanted his human body back.
That spacecraft might mean something to him. It was a way to get off the planet, but he couldn’t see leaving without his body—and he’d better be in his body at the time, since these robots might be the only ones who could manage the transplant back into it. Then, belatedly, he remembered what the medical team had told him: they needed information about human organs. Ariel’s were presumably in good shape, and could act as a model.
He started briskly in the direction she had gone, now more willing to risk revealing himself...In sudden puzzlement, he frowned—at least inwardly. He had no idea what his robot face was doing.
The point was, what had he been doing? Why had he run like that from the medical team? They had just wanted to test him some more. Why had he been so secretive? Maybe Ariel would have been glad to help. He hadn’t even thought of that. He had been in a fog ever since waking up.
He couldn’t see her ahead anymore, but—
A hand on his shoulder startled him. He twisted away from the contact, backing toward the wall of a building, A robot had just caught up with him from behind.
“Identify yourself,” said the robot, “I am Pavement Maintenance Foreman 752,”
“Uh—Tunnel Foreman, uh, 12.”
“Tunnel 12, is your comlink malfunctioning? I tried to contact you several times as you were standing still. You did not respond.”
“No, I didn’t...receive you.”
“I am informing you so that you can report to a repair facility. However, I initially tried to contact you to say that a First Law problem has developed over the matter of two humans in Robot City.”
“I am aware of it,” Jeff said warily.
“Excellent. I notice that your speech pattern is also hesitant. This symptom may be related to your comlink malfunction. I will escort you to the nearest repair facility, lest you be incapacitated by an additional symptom.”
“Oh—no, uh, I can find it.” Jeff backed along the wall. ‘Thanks, anyway.”
“Tunnel Foreman 12, your behavior also suggests further malfunctions. I will escort you. You are going the wrong way.”
Jeff turned and began walking quickly away. ‘Third Law violation!” cried the robot behind him. “You must not allow harm to yourself!”
Jeff heard the footsteps behind him start to run, and took off himself. Ahead of him, robots walking his way suddenly fixed their vision on him, and acted in concert to block the way, Pavement Maintenance Foreman 752 was obviously sending out comlink signals to every robot in the vicinity.
One of those openings leading underground stood just ahead on the left. Two robots blocked his way near it. He ran toward them and feinted forward, as though he was about to leap on them. They stiffened reflexively for the impact, and he dodged into the underground opening.
He found himself running down a ramp, and nearly lost his balance when his weight on the ramp activated it. It carried him down at a quick speed, and when he recovered his footing, he ran down to the level of the tunnel platforms. He understood their purpose without a pause, since robots were speeding by on them, but he stepped into the first booth without knowing how to operate it. It started anyhow, so he was content to look back and see a number of robots in pursuit entering booths behind him.
The controls seemed to have both voice activation and key code capabilities, but he didn’t now how the stops were numbered, or named, or whatever. Nor did he know anything about the layout of the city, so one stop was as good as another. His pursuit certainly knew exactly how to operate these things.
“Speed up,” he said experimentally. The platform did speed up, though not greatly. It was approaching the one just ahead, and clearly would not get too close. At least the robots pursuing him could not really get their hands on him here, either. They could only follow him, and try to jump him when he got off....
Unless they could get the system shut off on some emergency basis.
They’ll never get me, Jeff thought firmly. Once he was out of the tunnels again, he should have one advantage: these robots, despite their equal strength and reflexes, were unaccustomed to physical conflict. He was sure his feint had succeeded for that reason; they still expected him to act logically, like a robot, even if he had “malfunctioned.”
He could stop them cold if he revealed that he was human. They would have no right to harm his robot body under the First Law, then, and under the Second, they would have to obey him. Revealing himself would risk capture by the medical team, though, which he could not accept.
He shook his head, then, unsure of why he couldn’t accept that. They were dangerous to him, threatening...for some reason. In any case, they wouldn’t get him.
“Stop at the next stopping place,” he said to the booth.
His platform duly routed into the next available loading loop, and he quickly hopped out. This time he was ready for the moving ramp, and ran up it even as it carried him. Up on the street again, he found the number of robots very sparse, which was just as well. Any moment, the robots pursuing him would order them to join the chase.
He ran around a corner so that he would not be immediately visible when the pursuit poured out of the tunnel stop. A large door of some kind, apparently to accommodate sizable transports, was in front of him. He started to reach for the control panel to one side of the door, then realized that a work crew was almost certainly inside. The pursuit was sure to see him any second. He looked around frantically.
In the wall next to the door, he saw a broad, round opening with a closed iris cover. The cover opened at his touch, and the smells from within told him it was a trash chute. He slid into it feet first, face down, pressing his arms and legs against the slick sides of the chute to prevent himself from shooting down into the receptacle.
The cover irised shut over his head, so he concentrated on his hearing. Footsteps sounded nearby, hesitated, shuffled, a
nd pounded on. No voices were used; they were communicating through their comlinks. He waited, in case more were coming.
He could smell faint oils, oxidized metals, and some mild odors he could not recognize. His human nose would probably not have smelled anything. Apparently, robots produced only inorganic waste, sparing him the strong and foul odors of organic decomposition.
He was not getting tired, exactly, but he was somehow aware of unusual energy expenditure—which meant the same thing, in a way. When he had heard no sound of any robots for several minutes, he touched open the cover and pulled himself out. As before, the block was empty.
“Fooled ‘em,” he said aloud with a certain satisfaction. He strolled to the corner and looked up and down the street. A few robots were walking about, but traffic was very light. “Okay, gang. Now for the big test. Can you recognize me again, or not?”
As he walked, he closely eyed the robots he passed. None seemed to have any concern with him. If he possessed no external identifying mark, then his pursuit had permanently lost him when they had lost sight of him. He was comlink-invisible; not only was he incapable of receiving those signals, but he could not be tracked down by any careless broadcasting on his part. Use of the comlink would also explain why the robots found identifying marks unnecessary.
He was lost in the crowd.
Jeff smiled, at least inwardly, at the thought.
Aurora had been settled primarily by the descendants of Americans from Earth. His own ancestors had been Chinese Americans; a number of such families had been scattered about on Aurora, but they were a modest percentage of the population. Jeff had grown up knowing that he was visibly distinct anywhere he went, and he had expected the same when he went off to college—though now he was no longer sure he was going to make it.
For the first time, he resembled everyone else on the planet where he lived. It was a new experience—practically a new concept to go with his new existence. His life as a robot could be completely different for this reason, as well as for the obvious physical change.
