Isaac Asimov - Robot Visions

Mansky was incredulous. “He did that?” He handed it back with a shake of his head. “The luck of the draw. Something in the pathways.”

“Can you do it again?”

“Probably not. Nothing like this has ever been reported.”

“Good! I don’t in the least mind Andrew’s being the only one.”

“I suspect that the company would like to have your robot back for study,” Mansky said.

“Not a chance!” Sir said with sudden grimness. “Forget it.” He turned to Andrew, “Let’s go home, now.”

Miss was dating boys and wasn’t about the house much. It was Little Miss, not as little as she once was, who filled Andrew’s horizon now. She never forgot that the very first piece of wood carving he had done had been for her. She kept it on a silver chain about her neck.

It was she who first objected to Sir’s habit of giving away Andrew’s work. “Come on, Dad, if anyone wants one of them, let him pay for it. It’s worth it.”

“It isn’t like you to be greedy, Mandy.”

“Not for us, Dad. For the artist.”

Andrew had never heard the word before, and when he had a moment to himself he looked it up in the dictionary.

Then there was another trip, this time to Sir’s lawyer.

“What do you think of this, John?” Sir asked.

The lawyer was John Finegold. He had white hair and a pudgy belly, and the rims of his contact lenses were tinted a bright green. He looked at the small plaque Sir had given him. “This is beautiful. But I’ve already heard the news. Isn’t thus a carving made by your robot? The one you’ve brought with you.”

“Yes, Andrew does them. Don’t you, Andrew?”

“Yes, Sir,” said Andrew.

“How much would you pay for that, John?” Sir asked.

“I can’t say. I’m not a collector of such things.”

“Would you believe I have been offered two hundred and fifty dollars for that small thing. Andrew has made chairs that have sold for five hundred dollars. There’s two hundred thousand dollars in the bank from Andrew’s products.”

“Good heavens, he’s making you rich, Gerald.”

“Half rich,” said Sir. “Half of it is in an account in the name of Andrew Martin.”

“The robot?”

“That’s right, and I want to know if it’s legal.”

“Legal…?” Feingold’s chair creaked as he leaned back in it. “There are no precedents, Gerald. How did your robot sign the necessary papers?”

“He can sign his name. Now, is there anything further that ought to be done?”

“Um.” Feingold’s eyes seemed to turn inward for a moment. Then he said, “Well, we can set up a trust to handle all finances in his name and that will place a layer of insulation between him and the hostile world. Beyond that, my advice is you do nothing. No one has e stopped you so far. If anyone objects, let him bring suit”

“And will you take the case if the suit is brought?”

“For a retainer, certainly.”

“How much?”

“Something like that,” Feingold said, and pointed to the wooden plaque.

“Fair enough,” said Sir.

Feingold chuckled as he turned to the robot. “Andrew, are you pleased that you have money?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you plan to do with it?” Pay for things, sir, which otherwise Sir “would have to pay for. It would save him expense, sir.”

Such occasions’ arose. Repairs were expensive, and revisions were even more so. With the years, new models of robots were produced and Sir saw to it that Andrew had the advantage of every new device, until he was a model of metallic excellence. It was all done at Andrew’s expense. Andrew insisted on that.

Only his positronic pathways were untouched. Sir insisted on that.

“The new models aren’t as good as you are, Andrew,” he said. “The new robots are worthless. The company has learned to make the pathways more precise, more closely on the nose, more deeply on the track. The new robots don’t shift. They do what they’re designed for and never stray. I like you better.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“And it’s your doing, Andrew, don’t you forget that. I am certain Mansky put an end to generalized pathways as soon as he had a good look at you. He didn’t like the unpredictability. Do you know how many times he asked for you back so he could place you under study? Nine times! I never let him have you, though; and now that he’s retired, we may have some peace.”

So Sir’s hair thinned and grayed and his face grew pouchy, while Andrew looked even better than he had when he first joined the family. Ma’am had joined an art colony somewhere in Europe, and Miss was a poet in New York. They wrote sometimes, but not often. Little Miss was married and lived not far away. She said she did not want to leave Andrew. When her child, Little Sir, was born, she let Andrew hold the bottle and feed him.

With the birth of a grandson, Andrew felt that Sir finally had someone to replace those who had gone. Therefore, it would not be so unfair now to come to him with the request.

“Sir, it is kind of you to have allowed me to spend my money as I wished”

“It was your money, Andrew.”

“Only by your voluntary act, Sir. I do not believe the law would have stopped you from keeping it all.”

“The law won’t persuade me to do wrong, Andrew.”

“Despite all expenses, and despite taxes, too, Sir, I have nearly six hundred thousand dollars.”

“I know that, Andrew.”

“I want to give it to you, Sir.”

“I won’t take it, Andrew”

“In exchange for something you can give me, Sir”

“Oh? What is that, Andrew?”

“My freedom, Sir.”

“Your-”

“I wish to buy my freedom, Sir.”

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.”

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.