ایزاک آسیموف

[Dong Fang BuBai]

It wasn't that easy. Sir had flushed, had said, "For God's sake!" Then he had turned on his heel and
stalked away.
It was Little Miss who finally brought him round, defiantly and harshly-and in front of Andrew. For
thirty years no one had ever hesitated to talk in front of Andrew, whether or not the matter involved
Andrew. He was only a robot.
"Dad, why are you taking this as a personal affront? .He'll still
be here. He'll still be loyal. He can't help ,
that; it's built in. All he wants is a form of words. Ha wants to be called free. Is that so terrible? Hasn't be
earned this chance? Heavens, he and I have been talking about it for years!"
"Talking about it for years, have you?"
"Yes, and over and over again he postponed it for fear he would hurt you. I made him put the matter up
to you."
"He doesn't know what freedom is. He's a robot."
"Dad, you don't know him. He's read everything in the library. I don't know what he feels inside, but I
don't know what you feel inside either. When you
talk to him you'll find he reacts to the various abstractions as you and I do, and what else counts? If some
one else's reactions are like your own, what more can
you ask for?"
"The law won't take that attitude," Sir said, angrily. "See here, you!" He turned to Andrew with a
deliberate grate in his voice. "I can't free you except by doing it legally. If this gets into the courts, you
not only won't get your freedom but the law will take official cognizance of your .money. They'll tell
you that a robot has no right to earn money. Is this rigmarole worth losing your money?"
"Freedom is without price, Sir," said Andrew. "Even the chance of freedom is worth the money."
7
It seemed the court might also take the attitude that freedom was without price, and might decide that for
no price, however great, could a robot buy its freedom.
The simple statement of the regional attorney who represented those who had brought a class action
to oppose the freedom was this: "The word `freedom' has no meaning when applied to a robot. Only a
human being can be free." He said it several times, when it seemed appropriate; slowly, with his hand
coming down rhythmically on the desk before him to mark the words.
Little Miss asked permission to speak on behalf of Andrew.
She was recognized by her full name, something Andrew had never heard pronounced before:
"Amanda Laura Martin Charney may approach the bench."
"Thank you, Your Honor. I am not a lawyer and I don't know the proper way of phrasing things, but​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

I hope you will listen to my meaning and ignore the words.
"Let's understand what it means to be free in Andrew's case. In some ways, he is free. I think it's at
least twenty years since anyone in the Martin family
gave him an order to do something that we felt he might not do of his own accord. But we can, if we
wish, give him an order to do anything, couching it as harshly as we wish, because he is a machine that
belongs to us. Why should we be in a position to do so, when he has served us so long, so faithfully, and
has earned so much money for us? He owes us nothing more. The debit is entirely on the other side.
"Even if we were legally forbidden to place Andrew in involuntary servitude, he would still serve
us voluntarily. Making him free would be a trick of words only, but it would mean much to him. It
would give him everything and cost us nothing."
For a moment the judge seemed to be suppressing a smile. "I see your point, Mrs. Chamey. The fact
is that there is no binding law in this respect and no precedent. There is, however, the unspoken
assumption that only a man may enjoy freedom. I can make new law here, subject to reversal in a higher
court; but I cannot lightly run counter to that assumption. Let me address the robot. Andrew!"
"Yes, Your Honor."
It was the first time Andrew bad spoken in court, and the judge seemed astonished for a moment at
the human timbre of his voice.
"Why do you want to be free, Andrew? In what way will this matter to you?"
"Would you wish to be a slave, Your Honor," Andrew asked.
"But you are not a slave. You are a perfectly good robot-a genius of a robot, I am given. to
understand, capable of an artistic expression that can be matched nowhere. What more could you do if
you were free?"
"Perhaps no more than I do now, Your Honor, but with greater joy. It has been said in this
courtroom that only a human being can be free. It seems to me that only someone who wishes for
freedom can be free. I wish for freedom."
And it was that statement that cued the judge. The crucial sentence in his decision was "There is no
right
to deny freedom to any object with a mind advanced enough to grasp the concept and desire the state." It
was eventually upheld by the World Court:
8
Sir remained displeased, and his harsh voice made Andrew feel as if he were being short-circuited. "I
don't want your damned money, Andrew. I'll take it only because you won't feel free otherwise. From
now on, you can select your own jobs and do them as you please. I will give you no orders, except this
one: Do as you please. But I am still responsible for you. That's part of the court order. I hope you
understand that."
Little Miss interrupted. "Don't be irascible, Dad. The responsibility is no great chore. You know you
won't have to do a thing. The Three Laws still hold."
"Then how is he free?"​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

"Are not human beings. bound by their laws, Sir?" Andrew replied.
"I'm not going to argue." Sir left the room, and Andrew saw him only infrequently after that.
Little Miss came to see him frequently in the small house that had been built and made over for him. It
had. no kitchen, of course, nor bathroom facilities. It had just two rooms; one was a library and one was
a combination storeroom and workroom. Andrew accepted many commissions and worked harder as a
free robot than he ever had before, till the cost of the house was paid for and the structure was signed
over to him.
One day Little Sir-no, "George!"-came. Little Sir had insisted on that after' the court decision. "A free
robot doesn't call anyone Little Sir," George had said. "I call you Andrew. You must call me George."
His preference was phrased as an order, so Andrew called him George-but Little Miss remained Little
Miss.
One day when George came alone, it was to say that Sir was dying. Little Miss was at the bedside, but
Sir wanted Andrew as well.
Sir's, voice was still quite strong, though he seemed unable to move much. He struggled to raise his hand.
"Andrew," he said, "Andrew-Don't help me, George. I'm only dying; I'm not crippled. Andrew, I'm glad
you're free. I just wanted to tell you that."
Andrew did not know what to say. He had never been at the side of someone dying before, but he knew
it was the human way of ceasing to function. It was an involuntary and irreversible dismantling, and
Andrew did not know what to say that might be appropriate. He could only remain standing, absolutely
silent, absolutely motionless.
When it was over, Little Miss said to him, "He may not have seemed friendly to you toward the end,
Andrew, but he was old, you know; and it hurt him that you should want to be free."
Then Andrew found the words. "I would never have been free without him, Little Miss."
9
Only after Sir's death did Andrew begin to wear clothes. He began with an old pair of trousers at first, a
pair that George had given him.
George was married now, and a lawyer. He had joined Feingold's firm. Old Feingold was long since
dead, but his daughter had carried on. Eventually the firm's name became Feingold and Martin. It
remained so even when the daughter retired and no Feingold took her place. At the time Andrew first put​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

on clothes, the Martin name had just been added to the firm:
George had tried not to smile the first time he saw Andrew attempting to put on trousers, but to
Andrew's eyes the smile was clearly there. George showed Andrew how to manipulate the static charge
to allow the trousers to open, wrap about his lower body, and move shut. George demonstrated on his
own trousers, but Andrew was quite aware it would take him a while to duplicate that one flowing
motion.
"But why do you want trousers, Andrew? Your body is so beautifully functional it's a shame to cover it
especially when you needn't worry about either temperature control or modesty. And the material :
doesn't cling properly-not on metal."
Andrew held his ground. "Are not human bodies beautifully functional, George? Yet you cover
yourselves."
"For warmth, for cleanliness, for protection, for decorativeness. None of that applies to you."
"I feel bare without clothes. I feel different, George," Andrew responded.
"Different! Andrew, there are millions of robots on Earth now. In this region, according to the last
census, there are almost as many robots as there are men."
"I know, George. There are robots doing every conceivable type of work."
"And none of them wear clothes."
"But none of them are free, George."
Little by little, Andrew added to his wardrobe. He was inhibited by George's smile and by the stares of
the people who commissioned work.
He might be free, but there was built into Andrew a carefully detailed program concerning. his behavior
to people, and it was only by the tiniest steps that he dared advance; open disapproval would set him
back months. Not everyone accepted Andrew as free. He was incapable of resenting that, and yet there
was a difficulty about his thinking process when he thought of it. Most of all, he tended to avoid putting
on clothes -or too many of them-when he thought Little Miss might come to visit him. She was older
now and was often away in some warmer climate, but when she returned the first thing she did was visit
him.
On one of her visits, George said, ruefully, "She's got me, Andrew. I'll be running for the legislature next
year. `Like grandfather,' she says, `like grandson."'
"Like grandfather . . ." Andrew stopped, uncertain.​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

"I mean that I, George, the grandson, will be like Sir, the grandfather, who was in the legislature once."
"It would be pleasant, George, if Sir were still-" He paused, for he did not want to say, "in working
order." That seemed inappropriate.
"Alive;" George said. "Yes, I think of the old monster now and then, too."
Andrew often thought about this conversation. He had noticed his own incapacity in speech when
talking with George. Somehow the language had changed since Andrew had come into being with a
built-in ': vocabulary. Then, too, George used a colloquial speech, as Sir and Little Miss had not. Why
should he have called Sir a monster when surely that word was not a appropriate. Andrew could not
even turn to his own -' books for guidance. They were old, and most dealt with woodworking, with art,
with furniture design. .; There were none on language, none on the ways off; human beings.
Finally, it seemed to him that he must seek the proper books; and as a free robot, he felt he must not ask
George. He would go to town and use the library. j It was a triumphant decision and he felt his electro
potential grow distinctly higher until he had to throw in
an impedance coil. j
He put on a full costume, including even a shoulder chain of wood. He would have preferred the glitter
plastic, but George had said that wood was much more appropriate. and that polished cedar was
considerably more valuable as well.
He had placed a hundred feet between himself and the house before gathering resistance brought him to
a halt. He shifted the impendance coil out of circuit, and when that did not seem to help enough he
returned to his home and on a piece of notepaper wrote neatly, "I have gone to the library," and placed it
in clear view on his worktable.
10
Andrew never quite got to the library.
He had studied the map. He knew the route, but not the appearance of it. The actual landmarks did not
resemble the symbols on the map and he would hesitate. Eventually, he thought he must have somehow
gone wrong, for everything looked strange.
He passed an occasional field-robot, but by-the time he decided he should ask his way none were ii;
sight. A vehicle passed and did not stop.
Andrew stood irresolute, which meant calmly motionless, for coming across the field toward him
were two human beings.
He turned to face them, and they altered their course to meet him. A moment before, they had been
talking loudly. He had heard their voices. But now they were silent. They had the look that Andrew​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

associated with human uncertainty; and they were young, but not very young. Twenty, perhaps? Andrew
could never judge human age.
"Would you describe to me the route to the town library, sirs?"
One of them, the taller of the two, whose tall hat lengthened him still farther, almost grotesquely,
said, not to Andrew, but to the other, "It's a robot."
The other had a bulbous nose and heavy eyelids. He said, not to Andrew but to the first, "It's
wearing clothes."
The tall one snapped his fingers. "It's the free robot. They have a robot at the old Martin place who
isn't owned by anybody. Why else would it be wearing clothes?"
"Ask it," said the one with the nose.
"Are you the Martin robot?" asked the tall one.
"I am Andrew Martin, sir," Andrew said.
"Good. Take off your clothes. Robots don't wear clothes." He said to the other, "That's disgusting.
Look at him!"
Andrew hesitated. He hadn't heard an order in that tone of voice in so long that his Second Law
circuits had momentarily jammed.
The tall one repeated, "Take off- your clothes. I order you."
Slowly, Andrew began to remove them.
"Just drop them," said the tall one.
The nose said, "If it doesn't belong to anyone, it could be ours as much as someone else's."
"Anyway," said the tall one, "who's to object to
anything we do. We're not damaging property." tie turned to Andrew. "Stand on your head."
"The head is not meant-" Andrew began.
"That's an order. If you don't know how, try anyway.
.,
"
Andrew hesitated again, then bent to put his head on the ground. He tried to lift his legs but fell,
heavily.
The tall one said, "Just lie there." He said to the other, "We can take him apart. Ever take a robot
apart?"
"Will he let us?"
"How can he stop us?"
There was no way Andrew could stop them, if they ordered him in a forceful enough manner not to
resist The Second Law of obedience took precedence over the Third Law of self-preservation. In any
case, he could not defend himself without possibly hurting them, and that would mean breaking the First
Law. At that thought, he felt every motile unit contract slightly and he quivered as he lay there.
The tall one walked over and pushed - at him with his foot. "He's heavy. I think we'll need tools to
do the job."
The nose said, "We could order him to take himself, apart. It would be fun to watch him try."
"Yes," said the tall one, thoughtfully, "but let's get him off the road. If someone comes along-"
It was too late. Someone had, indeed, come along and it was George. From where he lay, Andrew​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

had seen him topping a small rise in the middle distance He would have liked to signal him in. some
way, but the last order had been "Just lie there!"
George was running now, and he arrived on the scene somewhat winded. The two young men
stepped back a little and then waited thoughtfully.
"Andrew, has something gone wrong?" George asked, anxiously.
Andrew replied, "I am well, George."
"Then stand up. What happened to your clothes?"
"That your robot, Mac?" the tall young man asked.
George turned sharply. "He's no one's robot. What's been going on here."
"We politely asked him to take his clothes off. What's that to you, if you don't own him."
George turned to Andrew. "What were they doing, Andrew?"
"It was their intention in some way to dismember me. They were about to move me to a quiet spot
and order me to dismember myself."
George looked at the two young men, and his chin trembled.
The young men retreated no farther. They were smiling.
The tall one said, lightly, "What are you going to do, pudgy? Attack us?"
George said, "No. I don't have to. This robot has been with my family for over seventy-five years.
He knows us and he values us more than he values anyone else. I am going to tell him that you two are
threatening my life and that you plan to kill me. I will ask him to defend me. In choosing between me
and you two, he will choose me. Do you know what will happen to you when he attacks you?"
The two were backing away slightly, looking uneasy.
George said, sharply, "Andrew, I am in danger and about to come to harm from these young men.
Move toward them!"
Andrew did so, and the young men did not wait. They ran.
"All right, Andrew, relax," George said. He looked unstrung. He was far past the age where he
could face the possibility of a dustup with one young man, let alone two.
"I couldn't have hurt them, George: I could see they were not attacking you."
"I didn't order you to attack them. I only told you to move toward them. Their own fears did the
rest."
"How can they fear robots?"
"It's a disease of mankind, one which has not yet been cured. But never mind that. What the devil
are you doing here, Andrew? Good thing I found your
note. I was just on the point of turning back and hiring a helicopter when I found you. How did you get
it into your head to go to the library? I would have brought you any books you needed"
"I am a-" Andrew began.
"Free robot. Yes, yes. All right, what did you want in the library?"
"I want to know more about human beings, about the world, about everything. And about robots,
George. I want to write a history about robots."
George put his arm on the other's shoulder. "Well, let's walk home. But pick up your clothes first.
Andrew, there are a million books on robotics and all of them include histories of the science. The world
is growing saturated not only with robots but with information about robots."
Andrew shook his head, a human gesture he had lately begun to adopt. "Not a history of robotics,​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

George. A history of robots, by a robot. I want to explain how robots feel about what has happened since
the first ones were allowed to work and live on Earth."
George's eyebrows lifted, but he said nothing in direct response.
11
Little Miss was just past her eighty-third birthday, but there was nothing about her that was lacking in
either energy or determination. She gestured with her cane oftener than she propped herself up with it.
She listened to the story in a fury of indignation. "George, that's horrible. Who were those young
ruffians?"
"I don't know. What difference does it make? In the end they did not do any damage."
"They might have. You're a lawyer, George; and if you're well off, it's entirely due to the talents of
Andrew. It was the money he earned that is the foundation of everything we have. He provides the
continuity for this family, and I will not have him treated as a wind-up toy."
"What would you have me do, Mother?" George asked.
"I said you're a lawyer. Don't you listen? You set up a test case somehow, and you force the regional
courts to declare for robot rights and get the legislature to pass the necessary bills. Carry the whole thing
to the World Court, if you have to. I'll be watching, George, and I'll tolerate no shirking."
She was serious, so what began as a way of soothing the fearsome old lady became an involved matter
with enough legal entanglement to make it interesting. As senior partner of Feingold and Martin, George
plotted strategy. But he left the actual work to his junior partners, with much of it a matter for his son,
Paul, who was also a member of the firm and who reported dutifully nearly every day to his
grandmother. She, in turn, discussed the case every day with Andrew.
Andrew was deeply involved. His work on his book on robots was delayed again, as he pored over the
legal arguments and even, at times, made very diffident suggestions. "George told me that day I was
attacked that human beings have always been afraid of robots," he said one day. "As long as they are, the
courts and the legislatures are not likely to work hard on behalf of robots. Should not something be done
about public opinion?"
So while Paul stayed in court, George took to the public platform. It gave him the advantage of being
informal, and he even went so far sometimes as to wear the new, loose style of clothing which he called
drapery.
Paul chided him, "Just don't trip over it on stage, Dad."
George replied, despondently, "I'll try not to."
He addressed the annual convention of holo-news editors on one occasion and said, in part: "If, by virtue
of the Second Law, we can demand of any robot unlimited obedience in all respects not involving harm
to a human being, then any human being, any human being, has a fearsome power over any robot, any​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

robot. In particular, since Second Law supersedes
Third Law; any human being can use the law of obedience to overcome the law of self-protection. He
can' order any robot to damage itself or even to destroy itself for any reason, or for no reason.
"Is this just? Would we treat an animal so? Even an inanimate object which had given us good service
has a claim on our consideration. And a robot is not insensitive; it is not an animal. It can think well
enough so that it can talk to us, reason with us, joke with us. Can we treat them as friends, can we work
together with them, and not give them some of the fruits of that friendship, some of the benefits of co
working?
"If a man has the right to give a robot any order that does not involve harm to a human being, he should
have the decency never to give a robot any order that involves harm to a robot, unless human safety
absolutely requires it. With great power goes great responsibility, and if the robots have Three Laws to
protect men, is it too much to ask that men have a law or two to protect robots?"
Andrew was right. It was the battle over public opinion that held the key to courts and legislature. In the
end, a law was passed that set up conditions under which robot-harming orders were forbidden. It was
endlessly qualified and the punishments for violating the law were totally inadequate, but the principle
was established. The final passage by the World Legislature came through on the day of Little Miss'
death.
That was no coincidence. Little Miss held on to life desperately during the last debate and let go only
when word of victory arrived. Her last smile was for Andrew. Her last words were, "You have been
good to us, Andrew." She died with her hand holding his, while her son and his wife and children
remained at a respectful distance from both.
12
Andrew waited patiently when the receptionist-robot disappeared into the inner office. The receptionist
might have used the holographic chatterbox, but un- .:
questionably it was perturbed by having to deal with another robot rather than with a human being.,
Andrew passed the time revolving the matter-4h his mind: Could "unroboted" be used as an analog
of "unmanned," or had unmanned become a metaphoric term sufficiently divorced from its original
literal meaning to be applied to robots--or to women for that matter? Such problems frequently arose as
he worked on his book on robots. The trick of thinking out sentences to express all complexities had
undoubtedly increased his vocabulary.
Occasionally, someone came into the room to stare at him and he did not try to avoid the glance. He
looked at each calmly, and each in turn looked away.
Paul Martin finally emerged. He looked surprised, or he would have if Andrew could have made
out his expression with certainty. Paul had taken to wearing the heavy makeup that fashion was dictating
for bath sexes. Though it made sharper and firmer the somewhat bland lines of. Paul's face, Andrew
disapproved. He found that disapproving of human beings, as long, as he did not express it verbally, did​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

not make him very uneasy. He could even write the disapproval. He was sure it had not always been so.
"Come in, Andrew. I'm sorry I made you wait, but there was something I had to finish. Come in,
you had said you wanted to talk to me, but I didn't know you meant here in town."
"If you are busy, Paul, I am prepared to continue to wait."
Paul glanced at the interplay of shifting shadows on the dial on the wall that served as timepieces
and said, "I can make some time. Did you come alone?"
"I hired an automatobile."
"Any trouble?" Paul asked, with more than a trace of anxiety.
"I wasn't expecting any. My rights are protected."
Paul looked all the more anxious for that. "Andrew, I've explained that the law is unenforceable, at
least under most conditions. And if you insist on wearing
clothe, you'll run into trouble eventually; just like that first time."
"And only tine, Paul. I'm sorry you are displeased"
"Well, look at it this way: you are virtually a living legend, Andrew, and you are too valuable in
many different ways for you to have any right to take chances with yourself. By the way, how's the book
coming?"
"I am approaching the end, Paul. The publisher is quite pleased."
"Good!"
"I don't know that he's necessarily pleased with the book as a book. I think he expects to sell many
copies because it's written by a robot and that's what pleases him.
"Only human, I'm afraid."
"I am not displeased. Let it sell for whatever reason, since it will mean money and I can use some."
"Grandmother left you-"
"Little Miss was generous, and I'm sure I can count on the family to help me out further. But it is
the royalties from the book on which I am counting to help me through the next step."
"What next step is that?" `
"I wish to see the head of U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men Corporation. I have tried to make an
appointment; but so far I have not been able to reach him. The Corporation did not cooperate with me in
the writing of the book, so I am not surprised, you understand."
Paul was clearly amused. "Cooperation is the last thing you can expect. They didn't cooperate with
us --`, in our great fight for robot rights. Quite the reverse, .; and you can see why. Give a robot rights
and people
may not want to buy them."
"Nevertheless," said Andrew, "if you call them, you may be able to obtain an interview for me."
"I'm no more popular with them than you are, Andrew."
"But perhaps you can hint that by seeing me they
may head off a campaign by Feingold and Martin to strengthen the rights of robots further."
"Wouldn't that be a lie, Andrew?"
"Yes, Paul, and I can't tell one. That is why you must call."​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

"Ah, you can't lie, but you can urge me to tell a lie, is that it? You're getting more human all the time,
Andrew."
13
The meeting was not easy to arrange, even with Paul's supposedly weighted name. But it finally came
about. When it did, Harley Smythe-Robertson, who, on his mother's side, was descended from the
original founder of the corporation and who had adopted the hyphenation to indicate it, looked
remarkably unhappy. He was approaching retirement age and his entire tenure as president had been
devoted to the matter of robot rights. His gray hair was plastered thinly over the top of his scalp; his face
was not made up, and he eyed Andrew with brief hostility from time to time.
Andrew began the conversation. "Sir, nearly a century ago, I was told by a Merton Manskyk of this
corporation that the mathematics governing the plotting of the positronic pathways was far too
complicated to permit of any but approximate solutions and that, therefore, my own capacities were not
fully predictable."
"That was a century ago." Smythe-Robertson hesitated, then said icily, "Sir. It is true no longer. Our
robots are made with precision now and are trained precisely to their jobs."
"Yes," said Paul, who had come along, as he said, to make sure that the corporation played fair, "with
the result that my receptionist must be guided at every point once events depart from the conventional,
however slightly."
"You would be much more displeased if it were to improvise," Smythe-Robertson said.
"Then you no longer manufacture robots like myself which are flexible and adaptable."
"No longer."
"The research I have done in connection with my book," said Andrew, "indicates that I am the oldest
robot presently in active operation."
"The oldest presently," said Smythe-Robertson, "and the oldest ever. The oldest that will ever be. No
robot is useful after the twenty-fifth year. They are called in and replaced with newer models."
"No robot as presently manufactured is useful after the twentieth year," said Paul, with a note of sarcasm
creeping into his voice. "Andrew is quite exceptional in this respect."
Andrew, adhering to the path he had marked out for himself, continued, "As the oldest robot in the
world and the most flexible, am I not unusual enough to merit special treatment from the company?"
"Not at all," Smythe-Robertson said, freezing up. "Your unusualness is an embarrassment to the​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

company. If you were on lease, instead of having been an outright sale through some mischance, you
would long since have been replaced."
"But that is exactly the point," said Andrew. "I am .. a free robot and I own myself. Therefore I come to
you and ask you to replace me. You cannot do this without the owner's consent. Nowadays, that consent
is extorted as a condition of the lease, but in my time this did not happen."
Smythe-Robertson was looking both startled and puzzled, and for a moment there was silence. Andrew'
-
found himself staring at the hologram on the wall. It was a death mask of Susan Calvin, patron saint of
all roboticists. She had been dead for nearly two centuries now, but as a result of writing his book
Andrew knew, her so well he could half persuade himself that he had met her in life.
Finally Smythe-Robertson asked, "How can I replace you for you? If I replace you, as robot, how can I
donate the new robot to you as owner since in the very
act of replacement you cease to exist" He smiled
fly.
"Not at all difficult," Paul interposed. "The seat of Andrew's personality is his positronic brain and it is
the one part that cannot be replaced without creating a new robot. The positronic brain, therefore, is
Andrew the owner. Every other part of the robotic body can be replaced without affecting the robot's
personality, and those other parts are the brain's possessions. Andrew, I should say, wants to supply his
brain with a new robotic body."
"That's right," said Andrew, calmly. He turned to Smythe=Robertson. "You have manufactured
androids, haven't you? Robots that have the outward appearance of humans, complete to the texture of
the skin?"
"Yes, we have. They worked perfectly well, with their synthetic fibrous skins and tendons.. There was
virtually no metal anywhere except for the brain, yet they were nearly as tough as metal robots. They
were tougher, weight for weight."
Paul looked interested. "I didn't know that. How many are on the market?"
"None," said Smythe-Robertson. "They were much more expensive than metal models and a market
survey showed they would not be accepted. They looked too human."
Andrew was impressed. `But the corporation retains its expertise, I assume. Since it does, I wish to
request that I be replaced by an organic robot, an android."​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

Paul looked surprised. "Good Lord!" he said.
Smythe-Robertson stiffened. "Quite impossible!"
"Why is it impossible?" Andrew asked. "I will pay any reasonable fee, of course."
"We do not manufacture androids."
"You do not choose to manufacture androids," Paul interjected quickly. "That is not the same as being
unable to manufacture them."
"Nevertheless," Smythe-Robertson responded, "the manufacture of androids is against public policy."
"There is no law against it," said Paul.
"Nevertheless, we do not manufacture them--and we will not"
Paul cleared his throat. "Mr. Smythe-Robertson," he said, "Andrew is a free robot who comes under the
purview of the law guaranteeing robot rights. You are aware of this, I take it?"
"Only too well."
"This robot, as a free robot, chooses to wear clothes This results in his being frequently humiliated by
thoughtless human beings despite the law against the humiliation of robots. It is difficult to prosecute
vague offenses that don't meet with the general disapproval of those who must decide on guilt and
innocence."
"U.S. Robots understood that from the start. Your father's firm unfortunately did not."
"My father is dead now, but what I see is that we have here a clear offense with a clear target."
"What are you talking about?" said Smythe-Robertson.
"My client, Andrew Martin he has just become
my client is a free robot who is entitled to ask U.S.
Robots and Mechanical Men Corporation for the
rights of replacement, which the corporation supplies
to anyone who owns a robot for more than twenty-five
years. In fact, the corporation insists on such replacement."
Paul was smiling and thoroughly at ease. "The positronic brain of my client," he went on, "is the
owner
of the body of my client which is certainly more than​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

twenty-five years old. The positronic brain demands the
replacement of the body and offers to pay any reason
able fee for an android body as that replacement. If
you refuse the request, my client undergoes humiliation
and we will sue.
"While public opinion would not ordinarily support the claim of a robot in such a case, may I remind
you that U.S. Robots is not popular with the public generally. Even those who most use and profit from
robots are suspicious of the corporation. This may be a hangover from the days when robots were widely
feared.
It may be resentment against the power and wealth of U.S. Robots, which has a worldwide monopoly.
Whatever the cause may be, the resentment eats. I think you will find that you would prefer not to be
faced with a lawsuit, particularly since my client is wealthy and will live for many more centuries and
will have no reason to refrain from fighting the battle forever."
Smythe-Robertson had slowly reddened. "You are trying to force-"
"I force you to do nothing," said Paul. "If you wish to refuse to accede to my client's reasonable request,
you may by all means do so and we will leave without another word. But we will sue, as is certainly our
right, and you will find that you will eventually lose."
"Well. "
"I see that you are going to accede," said Paul. "You may hesitate but you will come to it in the end. Let
me assure you, then, of one further point: If, in the process of transferring my client's positronic brain
from his present body to an organic one, there is any damage, however slight, then I will never rest until
I've nailed the corporation to the ground. I will, if necessary, take every possible step to mobilize public
opinion against the corporation if one brain path of my client's platinum-iridium essence is scrambled."
He turned to Andrew and asked, "Do you agree to all this, Andrew?"
Andrew hesitated a full minute. It amounted to the approval of lying, of blackmail, of the badgering and
humiliation of a human being. But not physical harm, he told himself, not physical harm.
He managed at last to come out with a rather faint "Yes."
14
He felt as though he were being constructed again. For days, then for weeks, finally for months, Andrew
found himself not himself somehow, and the simplest actions kept giving rise to hesitation.
Paul was frantic. "They've damaged you, Andrew. We'll have to institute suit!"​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

Andrew spoke very slowly. "You . . . mustn't. You'll never be able to prove . . . something . . . like m-mm-
m='
"Malice?"
"Malice. Besides, I grow . . . stronger, better. It's the tr-tr-tr-"
"Tremble?"
"Trauma. After all, there's never been such an opop-op- . . . before."
Andrew could feel his brain from the inside. No one else could. He knew he was well, and during the
months that it took him to learn full coordination and full positronic interplay he spent hours before the
mirror.
Not quite human! The face was stiff-too stiff and the motions were too deliberate. They lacked the
careless, free flow of the human being, but perhaps that might come with time. At least now he could
wear clothes without the ridiculous anomaly of a metal face going along with it.
Eventually, he said, "I will be going back to work."
Paul laughed. "That means you are well. What will you be doing? Another book?"
"No," said Andrew, seriously. "I live too long for any one. career to seize me by the throat and never let
me go. There was a time when I was primarily an artist, and I can still turn to that. And there was a time
when I was a historian, and I can still turn to that. But now I wish to be a robobiologist "
"A robopsycholagist, you mean."
"No. That would imply the study of positronic brains, and at the moment I lack the desire to do that. A
robobiologist, it seems to me, would be concerned with the working of the body attached to that brain."
"Wouldn't that be a roboticist?"
"A roboticist works with a metal body. I would be
studying an organic humanoid body, of which I have the only one, as far as I know."
"You narrow your field," said Paul, thoughtfully. "As an artist, all conception is yours; as a historian you
deal chiefly with robots; as a robobiologist, you will deal with yourself."
Andrew nodded. "It would seem so:"
Andrew had to start from the very beginning, for he knew nothing of ordinary biology and almost​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

nothing of science. He became a familiar sight in the libraries, where he sat at the electronic indices for
hours at a time, looking perfectly normal in clothes. Those few who knew he was a robot in no way
interfered with him.
He built a laboratory in a room which he added to his house; and his library grew, too.
Years passed, and Paul came to him one day and said, "It's a pity you're no longer working on the
history of robots. I understand U.S. Robots is adopting a radically new policy."
Paul had aged, and his deteriorating eyes had been replaced with photoptic cells. In that respect, he had
drawn closer to Andrew.
"What have they done?" Andrew asked.
"They are manufacturing central computers, gigantic positronic brains, really, which communicate with
anywhere from a dozen to a thousand robots by microwave. The robots themselves have no brains at all.
They are the limbs of the gigantic brain, and the two are physically separate."
"Is that more efficient?"
"U.S. Robots claims it is. Smythe-Robertson established the new direction before he died, however, and
it's my notion that it's a backlash at you. U.S. Robots is determined that they will make no robots that
will give them the type of trouble you have, and for that reason they separate brain and body. The brain
will have no body to wish changed; the body will have no brain to wish anything.
"It's amazing, Andrew," Paul went on, "the influence you have had on the history of. robots. It was your
artistry that encouraged U.S. Robots to make robots more precise and specialized; it was your freedom
that resulted in the establishment of the principle of robotic rights; it was your insistence on an android
body that made U.S. Robots switch to brain-body separation"
Andrew grew thoughtful. "I suppose in the end the corporation will produce one vast brain controlling
several billion robotic bodies. All the eggs will be in one basket. Dangerous. Not proper at all."
"I think you're right," said Paul, "but I don't suspect it will come to pass for a century at least and I won't
live to see it. In fact, I may not live to see next year."
"Paul!" cried Andrew, in concern.
Paul shrugged. "Men are mortal, Andrew. We're not like you. It doesn't matter too much, but it does
make it important to assure you on one point. I'm the last of the human Martins. The money I control
personally will be left to the trust in your name, and as far as anyone can foresee the future, you will be
economically secure."​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

"Unnecessary," Andrew said, with difficulty. In all this time, he could not get used to the deaths of the
Martins.
"Let's not argue. That's the way it's going to be. Now, what are you working on?"
"I am designing a system for allowing androids myself-to gain energy from the combustion of
hydrocarbons, rather than from atomic cells."
Paul raised his eyebrows. "So that they will breathe and eat?"
"Yes."
"How long have you been pushing in that direction?"
"For a long time now, but I think I have finally designed an adequate combustion chamber for catalyzed
controlled breakdown."
"Hut why, Andrew? The atomic cell is surely in finitely better."
"In some ways, perhaps. But the atomic cell is
15
It took time, but Andrew had time. In the first place, he did not wish to do anything till Paul-had died in
peace. With the death of the great-grandson of Sir, Andrew felt more nearly exposed to a hostile world
and for that reason was all the more determined along the path he had chosen.
Yet he was not really alone. If a man had died, the firm of Feingold and Martin lived, for a corporation
does not die any more than a robot does.
The firm had its directions and it followed them soullessly. By way of the trust and through the law firm,
Andrew continued to be wealthy. In return for their own large annual retainer, Feingold and Martin
involved themselves in the legal aspects of the new combustion chamber. But when the time came for
Andrew to visit U.S. Robots and Mechanical Men Corporation, he did it alone. Once he had gone with
Sir and once with Paul. This time, the third time, he was alone and manlike.
U.S. Robots had changed. The actual production plant had been shifted to a large space station, as had
grown to be the case with more and more industries. With them had gone many robots. The Earth itself
was becoming park like, with its one-billion-person population stabilized and perhaps not more than
thirty percent of its at-least-equally-large robot population independently brained.
The Director of Research was Alvin Magdescu, dark of complexion and hair, with a little pointed beard
and wearing nothing above the waist but the breast band that fashion dictated. Andrew himself was well
covered in the older fashion of several decades back.​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

Magdescu offered his hand to his visitor. "I know you, of course, and I'm rather pleased to see you.
You're our most notorious product and it's a pity old Smyth Robertson was so set against you. We could
have done a great deal with you."
"You still can," said Andrew.
"No, I don't think so. We're past the time. We've had robots on Earth for over a century, but that's
changing. It will be back to space with them, and those that stay here won't be brained."
"But there remains myself, and I stay on Earth."
"True, but there doesn't seem to be much of the robot about you. What new request have you?"
"To be still less a robot. Since I am so far organic, I wish an organic source of energy. I have here the
plans . . : '
Magdescu did not hasten through them. He might have intended to at first, but he stiffened and grew
intent. At one point, he said, "This is remarkably ingenious. Who thought of all this?"
"I did," Andrew replied.
Magdescu looked up at him sharply, then said, "It would amount to a major overhaul of your body, and
an experimental one, since such a thing has never been attempted before. I advise against it. Remain as
you are."
Andrew's face had limited means of expression, but impatience showed plainly in his voice. "Dr.
Magdescu, you miss the entire point: You have no choice but to accede to my request. If such devices
can be built into my body, they can be built into human bodies as well. The tendency to lengthen human
life by prosthetic devices has already been remarked on. There are no devices better than the ones I have
designed or am de
signing. t happens, I control the patents by way of the firm of Feingold and Martin. We are quite capable
of going into business for ourselves and of developing the kind of prosthetic devices that may end by
producing human beings with many of the properties of robots. Your own business will then suffer.
"If, however, you operate on me now and agree to do so under similar circumstances in the future,
you will receive permission to make use of the patents and control the technology of both robots and of
the prosthetization of human beings. The initial leasing will not be granted, of course, until after the first
operation is completed successfully, and after enough time has passed to demonstrate that it is indeed
successful."
Andrew felt scarcely any First Law inhibition to the stern conditions he was setting a human being.
He was learning to reason that what seemed like cruelty might, in the long run, be kindness.​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

Magdescu was stunned. "I'm not the one to decide something like this. That's a corporate decision
that would take time."
"I can wait a reasonable time," said Andrew, "but only a reasonable time." And he thought with
satisfaction that Paul himself could not have done it better.
16
It took only a reasonable time, and the operation was a success.
"I was very much against the operation, Andrew," Magdescu said, "but not for the reasons you
might think. I was not in the least against the experiment, if it had been on someone else. I hated risking
your positronic brain. Now that you have the positronic pathways interacting with simulated nerve
pathways, it might have been difficult to rescue the brain intact if the body had gone bad"
"I had every faith in the skill of the staff at U.S. Robots," said Andrew. "And I can eat now."
"Well, you can sip olive oil. It will mean occasional cleanings of the combustion chamber, as we
have explained to you. Rather an uncomfortable touch, I should think."
"Perhaps, if I did not expect to go further. Self cleaning is not impossible. In fact, I am working on a
device that will deal with solid food that may be expected to contain incombustible fractions-indigestible
matter, so to speak, that will have to be discarded."
"You would then have to develop an anus."
"Or the equivalent."
"What else, Andrew. . . ?"
"Everything else."
"Genitalia, too?"
"Insofar as they will fit my plans. My body is a canvas on which I intend to draw . . ."
Magdescu waited for the sentence to he completed, and when it seemed that it would not be, he
completed it himself. "A man?"
"We shall see," Andrew said.
"That's a puny ambition, Andrew. You're better than a man. You've gone downhill from the
moment, you opted to become organic."
"My brain has not suffered."
"No, it hasn't. I'll grant you that. But, Andrew, the whole new breakthrough in prosthetic devices
made possible by your patents is being marketed under your name. You're recognized as the inventor
and you're being honored for it-as you should be. Why play further games with your body?"
Andrew did not answer.
The honors came. He accepted membership in several learned societies, including one that was
devoted to the new science he had established-the one he had called robobiology but which had come to
be termed prosthetology. On the one hundred and fiftieth anniversary of his construction, a testimonial
dinner was given in his honor at U.S. Robots. If Andrew saw an irony in this, he kept it to himself.
Alvin Magdescu came out of retirement to chair the dinner. He was himself ninety-four years old
and was alive because he, too, had prosthetized devices that, among other things, fulfilled the function of
liver and, kidneys. The dinner reached its climax when Magdescu, after a short and emotional talk,
raised his glass to . toast The Sesquicentennial Robot.​

 

[Dong Fang BuBai]

Andrew had had the sinews of his face redesigned
to the point where he could show a human range of emotions, but he sat through all the ceremonies
solemnly passive. He did not like to be a Sesquicentennial Robot.
17
It was prosthetology that finally took Andrew off the Earth.
In the decades that followed the celebration of his sesquicentennial, the Moon had come to be a world
more Earthlike than Earth in every respect but its gravitational pull; and in its underground cities there
was a fairly dense population. Prosthetized devices there had to take the lesser gravity into account.
Andrew spent five years on the Moon working with local prosthetologists to make the necessary
adaptations. When not at his work, he wandered among the robot population, every one of which treated
him with the robotic obsequiousness due a man.
He came back to an Earth that was humdrum and quiet in comparison, and visited the offices of
Feingold and Martin to announce his return.
The current head of the firm, Simon DeLong, was surprised. "We had been told you were returning,
Andrew"-he had almost said Mr. Martin-"but we were not expecting you till next week."
"I grew impatient," said Andrew briskly. He was anxious to get to the point. "On the Moon, Simon, I
was in charge of a research team of twenty human scientists. I gave orders that no one questioned. The
Lunar robots deferred to me as they would to a human being. Why, then, am I not a human being?"
A wary look entered DeLong's eyes. "My dear Andrew, as you have just explained, you are treated as a
human being by both robots and human beings. You are, therefore, a human being de facto."
"To be a human being de facto is not enough. I want not only to be treated as one, but to be legally
identified as one. I want to be a human being de jure."
"Now, that is another matter," DeLong said. "There
we would run into human prejudice and into the undoubted fact that, however much you may be like a
human being, you are not a human being."
"In what way not?" Andrew asked. "I have the shape of a human being and organs equivalent to those of
a human being. My organs, in fact, are identical to some of those in a prosthetized human being. I have
contributed artistically, literally, and scientifically to human culture as much as any human being now
alive. What more can one ask?"
"I myself would ask nothing more. The trouble is that it would take an act of the World Legislature to
define you as a human being. Frankly, I wouldn't expect that to happen."​