Isaac Asimov - The Positronic Man

All things considered, the best move seemed to be for him to get some up-to-date information-and not from George. When Andrew turned to George at the time he had wanted to start wearing clothing, he had had to fight his way through George's incomprehension and a certain amount of George's condescending amusement. Though he doubted that George would treat him the same way in this matter, he preferred not to find out.

No, he would simply go to town and use the public library. That was the proper self-reliant thing to do-the correct way for a free robot to handle a problem, he told himself. It was a triumphant decision and Andrew felt his electropotential grow distinctly higher as he contemplated it, until he had to throw in an impedance coil to bring himself back to equilibrium.

To the library, yes.

And he would dress for the occasion. Yes. Yes. Humans did not enter the public library unclothed. Neither would he.

He put on a full costume-elegant leggings of a velvety purple fabric, and a flowing red blouse with a satiny sheen, and his best walking boots. He even donned a shoulder chain of polished wooden links, one of his finest productions. It was a choice between that and another chain he had, one made of glitter-plastic, which perhaps was better suited for daytime wear; but George had said that the wooden chain was terribly impressive, particularly since anything made of wood was far more valuable than mere plastic. And he wanted to impress, today. There would be humans in the library, not robots. They would never have seen a robot there before. It was important for him to look his best.

But he knew that he was doing something unusual and that there might be unusual consequences. If George dropped by unexpectedly, he would be surprised to find Andrew gone, and he might be troubled by that.

Andrew had placed a hundred feet between himself and the house before he felt resistance gathering within himself and rapidly reaching the level that would bring him to a halt. He shifted the impedance coil out of circuit, and when that did not seem to make much difference, he returned to his home and on a piece of paper wrote neatly:

I HAVE GOne TO THE LIBRARY.

—Andrew Martin

and placed it in clear view on his worktable.

ANDREW NEVER QUITE MADE IT to the library that day. He had never been there before-he rarely had reason to venture into the little town a short way down the road from the Martin estate-but he had not expected that to be any problem. He had studied the map with great care. And therefore he knew the route, or so he believed.

But everything he saw, once he was more than a short distance from the house, seemed strange to him. The actual landmarks along the road did not resemble the abstract symbols on the map, not to his way of thinking. He hesitated again and again, comparing the things he was seeing out here with the things he had expected to see, and after he had been walking for a little while he realized that he was lost, that he must have taken a wrong turn somewhere without noticing it and could no longer relate his position to anything on the map.

What to do now? Go back and start again? Or keep on in this direction, and hope that his path would somehow link up with the proper route?

The most efficient thing, Andrew decided, was to ask someone for directions. It might be that he could regain the direction he wanted with relatively little effort.

But who was there to ask? Closer to the house he had seen an occasional field robot, but there were none in sight here. A vehicle passed, but did not stop. Perhaps another one would come by soon. He stood irresolute, which meant calmly motionless; and then he saw two human beings walking diagonally across the field that lay to his left.

He turned to face them.

They saw him, and changed course so that now they were heading in his direction. They changed their demeanor, too. A moment before, they had been talking loudly, laughing and whooping, their voices carrying far across the field-but now they had fallen silent. Their faces bore the look that Andrew associated with human uncertainty.

They were young, but not very young, twenty, perhaps? twenty-five? Andrew had never been very good at judging the age of humans.

He said, when they were still some distance away, "Pardon me, sirs. Would you kindly describe to me the route to the town library?"

They halted and stared.

One of them, the taller and thinner of the two, who was wearing a tall narrow black hat that looked like a length of pipe and extended his height still further, almost grotesquely, said-not to Andrew, but to the other-"I think it's a robot."

"I think you're right," said the other, who was short and plump, and had a bulbous nose and heavy eyelids. "It's got a robot kind of face, doesn't it?"

"It certainly does. Definitely a robot kind of face."

"But it's wearing clothes."

"Very fancy clothes too."

"Imagine that. A robot wearing fancy clothes! What will they think of next?"

"Pardon me, sirs," Andrew said again. "I am in need of assistance. I have been trying to locate the town library, but I seem to have lost my way."

"Speaks just like a robot," the taller one said.

"Got a face just like a robot," said the other.

"Then it must be a robot."

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?"

"But he's wearing clothes."

"Clothes. Absolutely. There's no denying the truth of that, is there?"

"Robots don't wear clothes, do they?"

"Not that I know of."

"If it's wearing clothes, do you think it can be a robot?"

"It's got a metal face. Metal everything. But if it's a robot, why is it wearing clothes?"

The taller one snapped his fingers. "You know what we have here? It's the free robot. There's a robot that lives at the old Charney place that isn't owned by anybody, and I bet this is the one. Why else would it be wearing clothes?"

"Ask it," said the one with the nose.

"Good idea," said the other. He took a few steps toward Andrew and said, " Are you the robot from the Charney place?"

"I am Andrew Martin, sir," said Andrew.

"Pretty snotty kind of robot, aren't you?" the tall one said. "Give me a direct answer when I ask you a question."

"The place where I live is the Martin estate, which is owned by the Charney family. It was formerly the home of Mr. Gerald Martin. Therefore my name is Andrew Martin."

"You're a robot, right?"

"Of course I am, sir."

"Then why are you wearing clothes? Robots don't wear clothes, do they?"

"I wear clothes when I choose to wear them," said Andrew quietly.

"That's disgusting. You're a hideous spectacle decked out like that, do you know that? Absolutely hideous. A robot wearing clothes! Who ever heard of that?" He glanced at his companion. "Have you ever seen anything so disgusting?" And to Andrew he said, "Take off your clothes."

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 said, "Well, what are you waiting for? I told you to take off your clothes, didn't I? I order you to take off your clothes!"

Slowly, Andrew began to obey. He unfastened his shoulder chain and set it down carefully on the ground. Then he removed his satiny blouse and folded it with great care so that it would not look crumpled when he put it on again. He placed it on the ground next to the chain.

"Faster," said the tall one. "Don't bother folding your things. Just drop them, you hear? Get everything off. Everything."

Andrew unfastened the velvety leggings. He removed the elegant boots.

The nose said, "Well, at least he follows orders."

"He has to. Every robot does. There isn't any two ways about it. Following orders is built right into them. You say, 'Go jump in the lake,' and they jump. You say, 'Bring me a plate of strawberries,' and it goes right out and finds you some strawberries somewhere, even if it's the wrong time of year."