Page 12 of The Rest of the Robots

  There was the urge to attack the ship's machinery at random. Tear at it and get it over with. He repressed the impulse firmly. If it took him a week, he would deduce, somehow, the proper point of attack. He owed that much to Dr. Susan Calvin and his plans for her.

  He turned slowly on his heel and considered. Every part of the ship, from the engine itself to each individual two-way toggle switch, had been exhaustively checked and tested on Hyper Base. It was almost impossible to believe that anything could go wrong. There wasn't a thing on board ship——

  Well, yes, there was, of course. The robot! That had been tested at U.S. Robots and they, blast their devils' hides, could be assumed to be competent.

  What was it everyone always said? A robot can just naturally do a better job.

  It was the normal assumption, based in part on U.S. Robots' own advertising campaigns. They could make a robot that would be better than a man for a given purpose. Not 'as good as a man,' but 'better than a man.'

  And as Gerald Black stared at the robot and thought that, his brows contracted under his low forehead and his look became compounded of astonishment and a wild hope.

  He approached and circled the robot. He stared at its arms holding the control bar in trigger position, holding it forever so, unless the ship jumped or the robot's own power supply gave out.

  Black breathed, 'I bet. I bet.'

  He stepped away, considered deeply. He said, 'It's got to be.'

  He turned on ship's radio. Its carrier beam was already focused on Hyper Base. He barked into the mouthpiece, 'Hey, Schloss.'

  Schloss was prompt in his answer. 'Great Space, Black———'

  'Never mind,' said Black crisply. 'No speeches. I just want to make sure you're watching.'

  'Yes, of course. We all are. Look———'

  But Black turned off the radio. He grinned with tight one-sidedness at the TV camera inside the pilot room and chose a portion of the hyperfield mechanism that would be in view. He didn't know how many people would be in the viewing room. There might be only Kallner, Schloss, and Susan Calvin. There might be all personnel. In any case, he would give them something to watch.

  Relay Box # 3 was adequate for the purpose, he decided. It was located in a wall recess, coated over with a smooth cold-seamed panel. Black reached into his tool kit and removed the splayed, blunt-edged seamer. He pushed his space suit farther back on the rack (having turned it to bring the tool kit in reach) and turned to the relay box.

  Ignoring a last tingle of uneasiness, Black brought up the seamer, made contact at three separated points along the cold seam. The tool's force field worked deftly and quickly, the handle growing a trifle warm in his hand as the surge of energy came and left. The panel swung free.

  He glanced quickly, almost involuntarily, at the ship's visiplate. The stars were normal. He, himself, felt normal.

  That was the last bit of encouragement he needed. He raised his foot and smashed his shoe down on the feather-delicate mechanism within the recess.

  There was a splinter of glass, a twisting of metal, and a tiny spray of mercury droplets———

  Black breadied heavily. He turned on the radio once more. 'Still there, Schloss?'

  'Yes, but———'

  'Then I report the hyperfield on board the Parsec to be deactivated. Come and get me.'

  Gerald Black felt no more the hero than when he had left for the Parsec, but he found himself one just the same. The men who had brought him to the small asteroid came to take him off. They landed this time. They clapped his back.

  Hyper Base was a crowded mass of waiting personnel when the ship arrived, and Black was cheered. He waved at the throng and grinned, as was a hero's obligation, but he felt no triumph inside. Not yet. Only anticipation. Triumph would come later, when he met Susan Calvin.

  He paused before descending from the ship. He looked for her and did not see her. General Kallner was there, waiting, with all his soldierly stiffness restored and a bluff look of approval firmly plastered on his face. Mayer Schloss smiled nervously at him. Ronson of Interplanetary Press waved frantically. Susan Calvin was nowhere.

  He brushed Kallner and Schloss aside when he landed. 'I'm going to wash and eat first.'

  He had no doubts but that, for the moment at least, he could dictate terms to the general or to anybody.

  The security guards made a way for him. He bathed and ate leisurely in enforced isolation, he himself being solely responsible for the enforcement. Then he called Ronson of Interplanetary and talked to him briefly. He waited for the return call before he felt he could relax thoroughly. It had all worked out so much better than he had expected. The very failure of the ship had conspired perfectly with him.

  Finally he called the general's office and ordered a con­ference. It was what it amounted to—orders. Major General Kallner all but said, 'Yes, sir.'

  They were together again. Gerald Black, Kallner, Schloss—even Susan Calvin. But it was Black who was dominant now. The robopsychologist, graven-faced as ever, as unimpressed by triumph as by disaster, had nevertheless seemed by some subtle change of attitude to have relin­quished the spotlight.

  Dr. Schloss nibbled a thumbnail and began by saying, cautiously, 'Dr. Black, we are all very grateful for your bravery and success.' Then, as though to institute a healthy deflation at once, he added, 'Still, smashing the relay box with your heel was imprudent and—well, it was an action that scarcely deserved success.'

  Black said, 'It was an action that could scarcely have avoided success. You see,' (this was bomb number one) 'by that time I knew what had gone wrong.'

  Schloss rose to his feet. 'You did? Are you sure?'

  'Go there yourself. It's safe now. I'll tell you what to look for.'

  Schloss sat down again, slowly. General Kallner was enthusiastic. 'Why, this is the best yet, if true.'

  'It's true,' said Black. His eyes slid to Susan Calvin, who said nothing.

  Black was enjoying the sensation of power. He released bomb number two by saying, 'It was the robot, of course. Did you hear that, Dr. Calvin?'

  Susan Calvin spoke for the first time. 'I hear it. I rather expected it, as a matter of fact. It was the only piece of equipment on board ship that had not been tested at Hyper Base.'

  For a moment Black felt dashed. He said, 'You said no­thing of that.'

  Dr. Calvin said, 'As Dr. Schloss said several times, I am not an etherics expert. My guess, and it was no more than that, might easily have been wrong. I felt I had no right to prejudice you in advance of your mission.'

  Black said, 'All right, did you happen to guess how it went wrong?'

  'No, sir.'

  'Why, it was made better than a man. That's what the trouble was. Isn't it strange that the trouble should rest with the very specialty of U.S. Robots? They make robots better than men, I understand.'

  He was slashing at her with words now but she did not rise to his bait.

  Instead, she sighed. 'My dear Dr. Black. I am not re­sponsible for the slogans of our sales-promotion depart­ment.'

  Black felt dashed again. She wasn't an easy woman to handle, this Calvin. He said, 'Your people built a robot to replace a man at the controls of the Parsec. He had to pull the control bar toward himself, place it in position and let the heat of his hands twist the trigger to make final contact. Simple enough, Dr. Calvin?'

  'Simple enough, Dr. Black.'

  'And if the robot had been made no better than a man, he would have succeeded. Unfortunately, U.S. Robots felt compelled to make it better than a man. The robot was told to pull back the control bar firmly. Firmly. The word was repeated, strengthened, emphasized. So the robot did what it was told. It pulled it back firmly. There was only one trouble. He was easily ten times stronger than the ordinary human being for whom the control bar was designed.'

  'Are you implying———'

  'I'm saying the bar bent. It bent back just enough to misplace the trigger. When the heat of the robot's hand twisted the thermoc
ouple, it did not make contact.' He grinned. 'This isn't the failure of just one robot, Dr. Calvin. It's symbolic of the failure of the robot idea.'

  'Come now, Dr. Black,' said Susan Calvin icily, 'you're drowning logic in missionary psychology. The robot was equipped with adequate understanding as well as with brute force. Had the men who gave it its orders used quantitative terms rather than the foolish adverb "firmly," this would not have happened. Had they said, "apply a pull of fifty-five pounds," all would have been well.'

  'What you are saying,' said Black, 'is that the inadequacy of a robot must be made up for by the ingenuity and intel­ligence of a man. I assure you that the people back on Earth will look at it in that way and will not be in the mood to excuse U.S. Robots for this fiasco.'

  Major General Kallner said quickly, with a return of authority to his voice, 'Now wait, Black, all that has happened is obviously classified information.'

  'In fact,' said Schloss suddenly, 'your theory hasn't been checked yet. We'll send a party to the ship and find out. It may not be the robot at all.'

  'You'll take care to make that discovery, will you? I wonder if the people will believe an interested party. Besides which, I have one more thing to tell you.' He readied bomb number three and said, 'As of this moment, I'm resigning from this man's project. I'm quitting.'

  'Why?' asked Susan Calvin.

  'Because, as you said, Dr. Calvin, I am a missionary,' said Black, smiling.'I have a mission. I feel I owe it to the people of Earth to tell them that the age of the robots has reached the point where human life is valued less than robot life. It is now possible to order a man into danger because a robot is too precious to risk. I believe Earthmen should hear that. Many men have many reservations about robots as is. U.S. Robots has not yet succeeded in making it legally permissible to use robots on the planet Earth itself. I believe what I have to say, Dr. Calvin, will complete the matter. For this day's work, Dr. Calvin, you and your company and your robots will be wiped off the face of the solar system.'

  He was forewarning her, Black knew; he was forearming her, but he could not forego this scene. He had lived for this very moment ever since he had first left for the Parsec, and he could not give it up.

  He all but gloated at the momentary glitter in Susan Calvin's pale eyes and at the faintest flush in her cheeks. He thought, How do you feel now, madam scientist?

  Kallner said, 'You will not be permitted to resign, Black, nor will you be permitted———-'

  'How can you stop me, general? I'm a hero, haven't you heard? And old Mother Earth will make much of its heroes. It always has. They'll want to hear from me and they'll believe anything I say. And they won't like it if I'm interfered with, at least not while I'm a fresh, brand-new hero. I've already talked to Ronson of Interplanetary Press and told him I had something big for them, something that would rock every government official and science director right out of the chair plush, so Interplanetary will be first in line, waiting to hear from me. So what can you do except to have me shot? And I think you'd be worse off after that if you tried it.'

  Black's revenge was complete. He had spared no word. He had hampered himself not in the least. He rose to go.

  'One moment, Dr. Black,' said Susan Calvin. Her low voice carried authority.

  Black turned involuntarily, like a schoolboy at his teacher's voice, but he counteracted that gesture by a de­liberately mocking, 'You have an explanation to make, I suppose?'

  'Not at all,' she said primly. 'You have explained for me, and quite well. I chose you because I knew you would understand, though I thought you would understand sooner. I had had contact with you before. I knew you disliked robots and would, therefore, be under no illusions concern­ing them. From your records, which I asked to see before you were given your assignment, I saw that you had ex­pressed disapproval of this robot-through-hyperspace ex­periment. Your superiors held that against you, but I thought it a point in your favor.'

  'What are you talking about, doctor, if you'll excuse my rudeness?'

  'The fact that you should have understood why no robot could have been sent on this mission. What was it you yourself said? Something about a robot's inadequacies hav­ing to be balanced by the ingenuity and intelligence of a man. Exactly so, young man, exactly so. Robots have no ingenuity. Their minds are finite and can be calculated to the last decimal. That, in fact, is my job.

  'Now if a robot is given an order, a precise order, he can follow it. If the order is not precise, he cannot correct his own mistake without further orders. Isn't that what you reported concerning the robot on the ship? How then can we send a robot to find a flaw in a mechanism when we cannot possibly give precise orders, since we know nothing about the flaw ourselves? "Find out what's wrong" is not an order you can give to a robot; only to a man. The human brain, so far at least, is beyond calculation.'

  Black sat down abruptly and stared at the psychologist in dismay. Her words struck sharply on a substratum of understanding that had been larded over with emotion. He found himself unable to refute her. Worse than that, a feel­ing of defeat encompassed him.

  He said, 'You might have said this before I left.'

  'I might have,' agreed Dr. Calvin, 'but I noticed your very natural fear for your sanity. Such an overwhelming concern would easily have hampered your efficiency as an investigator, and it occurred to me to let you think that my only motive in sending you was that I valued a robot more. That, I thought, would make you angry, and anger, my dear Dr. Black, is sometimes a very useful emotion. At least, an angry man is never quite as afraid as he would be otherwise. It worked out nicely, I think.' She folded her hands loosely in her lap and came as near a smile as she ever had in her life.

  Black said, 'I'll be damned.'

  Susan Calvin said, 'So now, if you'll take my advice, return to your job, accept your status as hero, and tell your reporter friend the details of your brave deed. Let that be the big news you promised him.'

  Slowly, reluctantly, Black nodded.

  Schloss looked relieved; Kallner burst into a toothy smile. They held out hands, not having said a word in all the time that Susan Calvin had spoken, and not saying a word now.

  Black took their hands and shook them with some re­serve. He said, 'It's your part that should be publicized, Dr. Calvin.'

  Susan Calvin said icily, 'Don't be a fool, young man. This is my job.'

  'Lenny'' (which appeared in the January 1958 issue of In­finity Science Fiction) was written under unusual circum­stances. I am, now and then, overawed into going on vacation against my peevishly expressed desires not to. My wife, who can be quite overawing considering she is such a sweet, soft-voiced thing, is quite insensitive to my explana­tions that vacations are very hard on my nervous system because I am restless in the absence of a typewriter.

  She said calmly, 'Take a typewriter with you.'

  So I did, and for a couple of hours each morning I took it out on the lawn of the resort hotel (my wife sweetly and soft-voicedly insisting on the sovereign virtues of sun and fresh air—ugh!), placed it on a rickety table, weighted down various sheets of paper with stones and got to work.

  Not a morning passed without interruptions by someone wanting to know what I was doing. I explained and when they finally understood that I was working, they regarded me with no attempt at concealing their hostility. The word went round that I was a dangerous radical attempting to undermine the Great American Vacation.

  1 managed, somehow, to finish, and my lovable attic room never looked more lovable than it did when 1 re­turned. It took me some time to get back to work. First I had to kiss all the walls.

  LENNY

  United States Robots and Mechanical Men, Inc., had a problem. The problem was people.

  Peter Bogert, Senior Mathematician, was on his way to Assembly when he encountered Alfred Lanning, Research Director. Lanning was bending his ferocious white eye­brows together and staring down across the railing into the computer room.

  On the flo
or below the balcony, a trickle of humanity of both sexes and various ages was looking about curiously, while a guide intoned a set speech about robotic computing.

  'This computer you see before you,' he said, 'is the largest of its type in the world. It contains five million three hundred thousand cryotrons and is capable of dealing simultaneously with over one hundred thousand variables. With its help, U.S. Robots is able to design with precision the positronic brains of new models.

  'The requirements are fed in on tape which is perforated by the action of this keyboard—something like a very com­plicated typewriter or linotype machine, except that it does not deal with letters but with concepts. Statements are broken down into the symbolic logic equivalents and those in turn converted to perforation patterns.

  'The computer can, in less than one hour, present our scientists with a design for a brain which will give all the necessary positronic paths to make a robot…'

  Alfred Lanning looked up at last and noticed the other. 'Ah, Peter,' he said.

  Bogert raised both hands to smooth down his already perfectly smooth and glossy head of black hair. He said, 'You don't look as though you think much of this, Alfred.'

  Lanning grunted. The idea of public guided tours of U.S. Robots was a fairly recent origin, and was supposed to serve a dual function. On the one hand, the theory went, it allowed people to see robots at close quarters and counter their almost instinctive fear of the mechanical objects through increased familiarity. And on the other hand, it was supposed to interest at least an occasional person in taking up robotics research as a life work.

  'You know I don't,' Lanning said finally. 'Once a week, work is disrupted. Considering the man-hours lost, the re­turn is insufficient.'

  'Still no rise in job applications, then?'

  'Oh, some, but only in the categories where the need isn't vital. It's research men that are needed. You know that. The trouble is that with robots forbidden on Earth itself, there's something unpopular about being a roboticist.'

  'The damned Frankenstein complex,' said Bogert, con­sciously imitating one of the other's pet phrases.