Philip Dick - We Can Build You

To me Sam Barrows said, "You've got quite a tape reeling itself off inside that thing, don't you?"

"It's free to say what it wants," I told him.

"Anything? _You mean it wants to speechify?_" Barrows obviously did not believe me. "I don't see that it's anything but the familiar mechanical man gimmick, with this dressed-up historical guise. The same thing was demonstrated at the 1939 San Francisco World's Fair, Pedro the Vodor."

This exchange between Barrows and I had not escaped the attention of the Lincoln simulacrum. In fact both it and Pris and Mrs. Nild were now watching us and listening to us.

The Lincoln said to Mr. Barrows, "Did I not hear you, a short while ago, express the notion of 'acquiring me,' as an asset of some kind? Do I recall fairly? If so, I would wonder how you could acquire me or anyone else, when Miss Frauenzimmer tells me that there is a stronger impartiality between the races now than ever before. I am a bit mixed on some of this but I believe there is no more 'acquiring' of any human in the worki today, even in Russia where it is notorious."

Barrows said, "That doesn't include mechanical men."

"You refer to myself?" the simulacrum said.

With a laugh Barrows said, "All right, yes I do."

Beside him the short lawyer David Blunk stood plucking at his chin thoughtfully, glancing from Barrows to the simulacrum and back.

"Would you tell me, sir," the simulacrum said, "what a man is?"

"Yes, I would," Barrows said. He caught Blunk's eye; obviously, Barrows was enjoying this. "A man is a forked radish." He added, "Is that definition familiar to you, Mr. Lincoln?"

"Yes sir, it is," the simulacrum said. "Shakespeare has his Falstaff speak that, does he not?"

"Right," Barrows said. "And I'd add to that, A man can be defined as an animal that carries a pocket handkerchief. How about that? Mr. Shakespeare didn't say that."

"No sir," the simulacrum agreed. "He did not." The simulacrum laughed heartily. "I appreciate your humor, Mr. Barrows. May I use that remark in a speech?"

Barrows nodded.

"Thank you," the simulacrum said. "Now, you've defined a man as an animal which carries a pocket handkerchief. But what is an animal?"

"I can tell you you're not," Barrows said, his hands in his trouser pockets; he looked perfectly confident. "An animal has a biological heritage and makeup which you lack. You've got valves and wires and switches. You're a machine. Like a--" He considered. "Spinning jenny. Like a steam engine." He winked at Blunk. "Can a steam engine consider itself entitled to protection under the clause of the Constitution which you quoted? Has it got a right to eat the bread it produces, like a white man?"

The simulacrum said, "Can a machine talk?"

"Sure. Radios, phonographs, tape recorders, telephones-- they all yak away like mad."

The simulacrum considered. It did not know what those were, but it could make a shrewd guess; it had had enough time by itself to do a good deal of thinking. We could all appreciate that.

"Then what, sir, is a machine?" the simulacrum asked Barrows.

"You're one. These fellows made you. You belong to them."

The long, lined, dark-bearded face twisted with weary amusement as the simulacrum gazed down at Barrows. "Then you, sir, are a machine. For you have a Creator, too. And, like 'these fellows,' He made you in His image. I believe Spinoza, the great Hebrew scholar, held that opinion regarding animals; that they were clever machines. The critical thing, I think, is the soul. A machine can do anything a man can--you'll agree to that. But it doesn't have a soul."

"There is no soul," Barrows said. "That's pap."

"Then," the simulacrum said, "a machine is the same as an animal." It went on slowly in its dry, patient way, "And an animal is the same as a man. Is that not correct?"

"An animal is made out of flesh and blood, and a machine is made out of wiring and tubes, like you. What's the point of all this? You know darn well you're a machine; when we came in here you were sitting here alone in the dark thinking about it. So what? I know you're a machine; I don't care. All I care is whether you work or not. As far as I'm concerned you don't work well enough to interest me. Maybe later on when you have fewer bugs. All you can do is spout on about Judge Douglas and a lot of political, social twaddle that nobody gives a damn about."

His attorney, Dave Blunk, turned to regard him thoughtfully, still plucking at his chin.

"I think we should start back to Seattle," Barrows said to him. To me and Maury he said, "Here's my decision. We'll come in, but we have to have a controlling interest so we can direct policy. For instance, this Civil War notion is pure absurdity. As it stands."

Taken absolutely by surprise I stammered, "W-what?"

"The Civil War scheme could be made to bring in a reasonable return in only one way. You'd never think of it in a million years. Refight the Civil War with robots; yes. But the return comes in when it's set up so you can bet on the outcome."

"What outcome?" I said.

"Outcome as to which side prevails," Barrows said. "The blue or the gray."

"Like the World Series," Dave Blunk said, frowning thoughtfully.

"Exactly." Barrows nodded.

"The South couldn't win," Maury said. "It had no industry."

"Then set up a handicap system," Barrows said.

Maury and I were at a loss for words.

"You're not serious," I finally managed.

"I am serious."

"A national epic made into a horse race? A dog race? A lottery?"

Barrows shrugged. "I've given you a million-dollar idea. You can throw it away; that's your privilege. I can tell you that there's no other way a Civil War use of your dolls can be made to pay. Myself, I would put them to a different use entirely. I know where your engineer, Robert Bundy, came from; I'm aware that he formerly was employed by the Federal Space Agency in designing circuits for their simulacra. After all, it's of the utmost importance to me to know as much about space-exploration hardware as can be known. I'm aware that your Stanton and Lincoln are minor modifications of Government systems."

"Major," Maury corrected hoarsely. "The Government simulacra are simply mobile machines that creep about on an airless surface where no humans could exist."

Barrows said, "I'll tell you what I envision. Can you produce simulacra that are friendly-like?"

"What?" both I and Maury said together.

"I could use a number of them designed to look exactly like the family next door. A friendly, helpful family that would make a good neighbor. People you'd want to move in near, people like you remember from your childhood back in Omaha, Nebraska."

After a pause Maury said, "He means that he's going to sell lots of them. So they can build."

"Not sell," Barrows said. "_Give_. Colonization has to begin; it's been put off too long as it is. The Moon is barren and desolate. People are going to be lonely, there. It's difficult, we've found, to get anyone to go first. They'll buy the land but they won't settle on it. We want towns to spring up. To do that possibly we've got to prime the pump."

"Would the actual human settlers know that their neighbors are merely simulacra?" I asked.

"Of course," Barrows said smoothly.

"You wouldn't try to deceive them?"

"Hell no," Dave Blunk said. "That would be fraud."

I looked at Maury; he looked at me.

"You'd give them names," I said to Barrows. "Good old homey American names. The Edwards family, Bill and Mary Edwards and their son Tim who's seven. They're going to the Moon; they're not afraid of the cold and the lack of air and the empty, barren wastes."

Barrows eyed me.

"And as more and more people got hooked," I said, "you could quietly begin to pull the simulacra back out. The Edwards family and the Jones family and the rest--they'd sell their houses and move on. Until finally your subdivisions, your tract houses, would be populated by authentic people. And no one would ever know."