THE APPOINTMENT wasn't easy to arrange, even using Paul's supposedly powerful name.
But repeated pressure-coupled with the none too delicate hint that permitting Andrew to have a few minutes of Harley Smythe-Robertson's precious time might well save U. S. Robots and Mechanical Men from having to go through a troublesome new round of litigation over robot rights-finally carried the day. On a balmy spring day Andrew and Paul set out together across the country for the vast and sprawling complex of buildings that was the headquarters of the gigantic robotics company.
Harley Smythe-Robertson-who was descended from both branches of the family that had founded U. S. Robots, and had adopted the hyphenated name by way of declaring that fact-looked remarkably unhappy at the sight of Andrew. He was approaching retirement age and an extraordinary amount of his tenure as president of the company had been devoted to the controversies over robot rights. Smythe-Robertson was a tall, almost skeletally lean man whose gray hair was plastered thinly over the top of his scalp. He wore no facial makeup. From time to time during the meeting he eyed Andrew with brief but undisguised hostility
"And what new trouble have you come here to cause us, may I ask?" Smythe-Robertson said.
"Please understand, sir, it has never been my intention to cause this company trouble. Never."
"But you have. Constantly."
"I have only attempted to gain that to which I have felt entitled."
Smythe-Robertson reacted to the word "entitled" as he might have to a slap in the face.
"How extraordinary to hear a robot speak of feelings of entitlement. "
"This robot is a very extraordinary robot, Mr. Smythe-Robertson," said Paul.
"Extraordinary," Smythe-Robertson said sourly. "Yes. Quite extraordinary."
Andrew said, "Sir, slightly more than a century ago I was told by Melwin Mansky, who was the Chief Robopsychologist of this company then, that the mathematics governing the plotting of the positronic pathways was far too complicated to permit of any but approximate solutions, and that therefore the limits of my own capacities were not fully predictable."
"As you say, that was over a century ago," Smythe-Robertson replied. And after a moment's hesitation added icily, "Sir. The situation is quite different nowadays. Our robots are made with great precision now and are trained precisely to their tasks. We have eliminated every aspect of unpredictability from their natures."
"Yes," said Paul. "So I've noticed. And one result is that my receptionist has to be guided at every point that departs from the expected path, however slightly. I don't see that as much of a step forward in the state of the art."
Smythe-Robertson said, "I think you'd like it a great deal less if your receptionist were to improvise."
"Improvise?" Paul said. "Think is all I ask. Enough thinking to be able to handle the simple situations a receptionist needs to deal with. Robots are designed to be intelligent, aren't they? It seems to me you've backtracked toward a very limited definition of intelligence indeed."
Smythe-Robertson fidgeted and glowered, but made no direct response.
Andrew said, "Are you saying, sir, that you no longer manufacture any robots that are as flexible and adaptable as-let us say-myself?"
"That's right. We discontinued the generalized-pathways line so long ago that I couldn't tell you how far back it was. Perhaps it was in Dr. Mansky's time. Which was long before I was born, and as you see, I am far from young."
"As am I," said Andrew. "The research I have done in connection with my book-I think you know that I have written a book about robotics and robots-indicates that I am the oldest robot presently in active operation."
"Correct," said Smythe-Robertson. "And the oldest ever. The oldest that will ever be, in fact. No robot is useful after its twenty-fifth year. Their owners are entitled to bring them in at that time and have them replaced with new models. In the case of leased robots, we call them in automatically and provide the replacements."
"No robot in any of your presently manufactured series is useful after the twenty-fifth year," said Paul pleasantly. "But Andrew is a robot of a quite different sort."
"Indeed he is," said Smythe-Robertson. "I'm only too aware of that."
Andrew, adhering steadfastly to the path he had marked out for himself, said, "Since I am the oldest robot in the world and the most flexible one in existence, would you not say that I am so unusual that I merit special treatment from the company?"
"Not at all," said Smythe-Robertson icily. "Let me be blunt with you-sir. Your unusualness is a continuing embarrassment to the company. You have caused us all manner of difficulties, as I've already pointed out, as a result of the various activist positions you have taken over the years. Your feelings of-ah-entitlement are not shared here. If you were on lease as most of our robots are, instead of having been acquired by outright purchase through some regrettable bit of ancient administrative carelessness, we'd have called you in long ago and replaced you with a robot of a more docile type."
"At least you're straightforward about it," Paul said.
"There's no secret about the way we feel over this. We're in business to sell robots, not to engage in endless unprofitable political squabblings. A robot that believes it's something more than a useful mechanical device is a direct threat to our corporate welfare."
"And therefore you would destroy me if you could," said Andrew. "I quite understand that. But I am a free robot and I own myself, so I can't be called in and it would be pointless to make an attempt to repurchase me. And I am protected by the law against any harm you might want to do to me. Which is why I have been willing to put myself in your hands for periodic upgrading. And why I have come to you today to request the most extensive upgrading you have ever done on any robot. What I want is a total replacement for myself, Mr. Smythe-Robertson."
Smythe-Robertson looked both astounded and bewildered. He stared at Andrew in total silence, and the silence went on for a seemingly interminable time.
Andrew waited. He looked past Smythe-Robertson toward the wall, where a holographic portrait looked back at him. It showed a dour, austere female face: the face of Susan Calvin, the patron saint of all roboticists. She had been dead nearly two centuries now, but after having delved into her working papers as deeply as he had during the course of writing his book, Andrew felt he knew her so well that he could half persuade himself that he had met her in life.
Smythe-Robertson said finally, "A total replacement, you say? But what does that mean?"
"Exactly what I said. When you call in an obsolete robot, you provide its owner with a replacement. Well, I want you to provide me with a replacement for me."
Still looking confused, Smythe-Robertson said, "But how can we do that? If we replace you, how can we turn the new robot over to you as owner, since in the very act of being replaced you would have to cease to exist?" And he smiled grimly.
"Perhaps Andrew hasn't made himself sufficiently clear," interposed Paul. "May I try? -the seat of Andrew's personality is his positronic brain, which is the one part that cannot be replaced without creating a new robot. The positronic brain, therefore, is the locus of Andrew Martin, who is the owner of the robot in which Andrew Martin's positronic brain is currently housed. Every other part of the robotic body can be replaced without affecting the Andrew Martin personality-most of those parts, as you may know, have already been replaced, sometimes more than once, in the hundred-odd years since Andrew was first manufactured. Those subsidiary parts are the brain's possessions. The brain, at its option, can have them replaced at any time, but the continuity of the brain's existence is unbroken. What Andrew actually wants, Mr. Smythe-Robertson, is simply for you to transfer his brain to a new robotic body."
"I see," Smythe-Robertson said. " A total upgrade, in other words." But his face showed perplexity again. "To what kind of body, may I ask? You already are housed in the most advanced mechanical body that we manufacture."
"But you have manufactured androids, haven't you?" said Andrew. "Robots that have the outward appearance of humans, complete to the texture of the skin? That is what I want, Mr. Smythe-Robertson. An android body."
Paul seemed astounded by that. "Good Lord," he blurted. "Andrew, I never dreamed that that was what you-" His voice trailed off.
Smythe-Robertson stiffened. "It's an absolutely impossible request. Impossible."
"Why do you say that?" Andrew asked. "I'm willing to pay any reasonable fee, as I have for all the numerous upgrades you've given me up to now."
"We don't manufacture androids," Smythe-Robertson said flatly. "You have, though. I know that you have."
"Formerly, yes. The line was discontinued."
"Because of technical problems?" Paul asked.
"Not at all. The experimental android line was quite successful, actually-technically speaking. Their appearance was strikingly human in form, and yet they had all the versatility and ruggedness of robots. We used synthetic carbon-fiber skins and silicone tendons. There was virtually no structural metal involved anywhere-the brain, of course, was still platinum-iridium-and yet they were nearly as tough as conventional metal robots. They were tougher, in fact, weight for weight."
"Despite all of which, you never put them on the market?" Paul asked.
"Correct. We worked up about a dozen experimental models and ran some marketing surveys and decided not to go ahead with the line."
"Why was that?"
"For one thing," said Smythe-Robertson, "a line of androids would have had to be far more expensive than the standard metal robots-so expensive that we would have had to regard them purely as luxury items, with a potential market so limited in size that it would take many years for us to be able to amortize the expense of setting up a production facility. But that was only a small part of the difficulty. The real problem was negative consumer reaction. The androids looked too human, you see. They reawakened all the ancient fears of making real humans obsolete that had caused us so much trouble two hundred years ago. It made no sense for us to open all that psychotic nonsense up again simply for the sake of setting up a line that was doomed from the outset to be unprofitable anyway."
"But the corporation has maintained its expertise in the area of making androids, has it not?" Andrew asked.
Smythe-Robertson shrugged. "I suppose we still could make them if we saw any sense to it, yes."
"You choose not to, though," said Paul. "You've got the technology but you simply decline to exercise it. That's not quite the same thing as what you told us before, that it would be impossible to manufacture an android body for Andrew."
"It would be possible, yes-technically. But completely against public policy."
"Why? There isn't any law that I know of against making androids."
"Nevertheless," Smythe-Robertson said, "we don't manufacture them and we don't intend to. Therefore we are unable to provide the android body that Andrew Martin has requested. And I suggest to you that this conversation has reached a point of no return. If you'll excuse me, therefore-" And he half rose from his seat.
"Just a little time longer, if you please," said Paul in an easy tone that had something more forceful just beneath its surface. He cleared his throat. Smythe-Robertson subsided, looking even more displeased than he had. Paul went on, "Mr. Smythe-Robertson, Andrew is a free robot who falls under the protection of the laws that govern robot rights. You are aware of this, of course."
"Only too well."
"This robot, as a free robot, freely chooses to wear clothes. This has resulted in his being frequently humiliated by thoughtless human beings, despite the law that supposedly protects robots against such humiliation. It's quite difficult, you realize, to prosecute vague offenses that don't meet with the general disapproval of those whose responsibility it is to decide between guilt and innocence."
"I'm not at all surprised to hear that," said Smythe-Robertson restlessly. "U. S. Robots understood that from the start. Your father's law firm unfortunately did not."
"My father is dead now," said Paul. "But what I see is that we have here a clear offense with a clear target, and we stand ready to take the appropriate action."
"What are you talking about?"
"My client, Andrew Martin-he has been the client of my firm for many years-is a free robot, by decree of the World Court. That is to say, Andrew is his own owner, and in him, therefore, are vested the legal rights that any human robot owner has in regard to robots in his possession. One of those rights is that of replacement. As you yourself pointed out some time ago during this discussion, the owner of any robot is entitled to ask U. S. Robots and Mechanical Men Corporation for a replacement when his robot reaches the point of obsolescence. In fact, the corporation insists on offering such replacements, and where leased robots are involved will call them in automatically. I've stated your policy correctly, is that not so?"
"Well-yes."
"Good." Paul was smiling and thoroughly at his ease. He continued, "Now, the positronic brain of my client is the owner of the body of my client-and that body, obviously, is far more than twenty-five years old. By your own definition that body is obsolete and my client is entitled to a replacement."
"Well-" Smythe-Robertson said again, reddening. His gaunt, almost fleshless face looked like a mask, now.
"The positronic brain which is my actual client demands the replacement of the robot body in which it is housed, and has offered to pay any reasonable fee for that replacement."
"Then let him sign up in the ordinary way and we'll give him his updating!"
"He wants more than an updating. He wants the finest replacement body within your technical capacity, by which he means an android body."
"He can't have one."
"By refusing," Paul said smoothly, "you condemn him to continued humiliation at the hands of those who, recognizing him as a robot, treat him with contempt because he prefers to wear clothes and otherwise behave in traditionally 'human' fashion."
"That's not our problem," said Smythe-Robertson.
"It becomes your problem when we sue you for refusing to provide my client with a body that would allow him to avoid much of the humiliation he now encounters."
"Go ahead and sue, then. Do you think anybody's going to give a damn about a robot who wants to look human? People will be outraged. He'll be denounced everywhere for the arrogant upstart that he is."
"I'm not so sure," Paul said. " Agreed, public opinion wouldn't ordinarily support the claim of a robot in a lawsuit of that kind. But may I remind you that U. S. Robots is not very popular with the general public, Mr. Smythe-Robertson? Even those who most use robots to their own benefit and profit are suspicious of you. This may be a hangover from the days of anti-robot paranoia: I suspect that's a good part of it. Or it may be resentment against the immense power and wealth of your company, which has so successfully managed to defend its worldwide monopoly on robot manufacture through a long and clever series of patent maneuvers. Whatever the cause may be, the resentment may exist. If there's any entity that would be even less popular in such a lawsuit than the robot who wants to look like a human being, it would be the corporation that has filled the world with robots in the first place."
Smythe-Robertson glared. The clenched muscles of his face stood out clearly. He said nothing.
Paul went on, "In addition, think about what people would say when they find out you're capable of manufacturing human-looking robots? The lawsuit would very definitely focus a great deal of attention on that very point. Whereas if you quietly and simply provided my client with what he requests-"
Smythe-Robertson seemed about to explode. "This is coercion, Mr. Charney."
"On the contrary. We're simply trying to show you where your own best interests lie. A quick and peaceful resolution is all that we're looking for. Of course, if you compel us to seek legal redress in the courts, that's a different matter. And then, I think, you will find yourself in an awkward and disagreeable position, particularly since my client is quite wealthy and will live for many centuries to come and will have no reason to refrain from fighting this battle forever."
"We're not without resources ourselves, Mr. Charney."
"I'm aware of that. But can you withstand an endless legal siege that will expose the deepest secrets of your company? -I put it to you one last time, Mr. Smythe-Robertson. If you prefer to reject my client's quite reasonable request, you may by all means do so and we'll leave here without another word being spoken. But we will sue, as is certainly our right, and we will sue most strenuously and publicly, which is bound to create immense difficulties for u. S. Robots, and you will find that you will eventually lose. Are you willing to take that risk?"
"Well-" Smythe-Robertson said, and paused.
"Good. I see that you're going to accede," said Paul. "You may still be hesitating now, but you're going to come around in the end. A very wise decision, may I add. But that leads to a further important point."
Smythe-Robertson's fury seemed to be fading into sullen glumness. He did not try to speak.
Paul continued, "Let me assure you that if, in the process of transferring my client's positronic brain from his present body to the organic one that you ultimately will agree to create for him, there is any damage, however slight, then I will never rest until I have nailed this corporation to the ground."
"You can't expect us to guarantee-"
"I can and I will. You've had a hundred-odd years of experience in transferring positronic brains from one robot body to another. You can surely use the same techniques in transferring one safely to an android body. And I warn you of this: if one brain-path of my client's platinum-iridium essence happens to get scrambled in the course of the work, you can be quite certain that I'll take every possible step to mobilize public opinion against this corporation-that I will expose it before all the world for the criminally vindictive operation that it has plainly revealed itself to be."
Smythe-Robertson said, shifting about miserably in his seat, "There's no way we can provide you with a total waiver of liability. There are risks in any sort of transfer."
"Low-probability ones. You don't lose a lot of positronic brains while you move them from one body to another. We're willing to accept risks of that sort. It's the possibility of deliberate and malevolent action against my client that I'm warning you against."
"We wouldn't be so stupid," said Smythe-Robertson. " Assuming we go through with this, and I haven't yet said we would, we'd exert our utmost skills. That's the way we've always worked and the way we intend to continue. You've backed me into a corner, Charney, but you've still got to realize that we can't give you a 100% assurance of success. 99%, yes. Not 100."
"Good enough. But remember: we'll throw everything we have at you if we have reason to suspect any sort of intentional harm to our client." Paul turned to Andrew and said, "What do you say, Andrew? Is this acceptable to you?"
Andrew hesitated for nearly a full minute, caught in an equilibrium of First Law potentials. What Paul wanted from him amounted to the approval of lying, of blackmail, of the badgering and humiliation of a human being.
But at least no physical harm was involved, he told himself. No physical harm.
And he managed at last to come out with a barely audible "Yes."