Айзек Азимов - Wandering Stars - An Anthology of Jewish Fantasy and Science Fiction

“I know.”

“If you switched to a pipe your chances would be improved.”

“I don’t like pipes.”

“What about a cigar, then?”

“I don’t like cigars.” He lit another cigarette.

“That’s your third cigarette in five minutes,” the city said.

“Goddamn it, I’ll smoke as much and as often as I please!” Carmody shouted.

“Well, of course you will!” the city said. “I was merely trying to advise you for your own good. Would you want me to simply stand by and not say a word while you destroyed yourself?”

“Yes,” Carmody said.

“I can’t believe that you mean that. There is an ethical imperative involved here. Man can act against his best interests; but a machine is not allowed that degree of perversity.”

“Get off my back,” Carmody said sullenly. “Quit pushing me around.”

“Pushing you around? My dear Carmody, have I coerced you in any way? Have I done any more than advise you?”

“Maybe not. But you talk too much.”

“Perhaps I don’t talk enough,” the city said. “To judge from the response I get.”

“You talk too much,” Carmody repeated and lit a cigarette.

“That is your fourth cigarette in five minutes.”

Carmody opened his mouth to bellow an insult. Then he changed his mind and walked away.

“What’s this?” Carmody asked.

“It’s a candy machine,” the city told him.

“It doesn’t look like one.”

“Still, it is one. This design is a modification of a design by Saarionmen for a silo. I have miniaturized it, of course, and—”

“It still doesn’t look like a candy machine. How do you work it?”

“It’s very simple. Push the red button. Now wait. Press down one of those levers on Row A; now press the green button. There!”

A Baby Ruth bar slid into Carmody’s hand.

“Huh,” Carmody said. He stripped off the paper and bit into the bar. “Is this a real Baby Ruth bar or a copy of one?” he asked.

“It’s a real one. I had to subcontract the candy concession because of the pressure of work.”

“Huh,” Carmody said, letting the candy wrapper slip from his fingers.

“That,” the city said, “is an example of the kind of thoughtlessness I always encounter.”

“It’s just a piece of paper,” Carmody said, turning and looking at the candy wrapper lying on the spotless street.

“Of course it’s just a piece of paper,” the city said. “But multiply it by a hundred thousand inhabitants and what do you have?”

“A hundred thousand Baby Ruth wrappers,” Carmody answered at once.

“I don’t consider that funny,” the city said. “You wouldn’t want to live in the midst of all that paper, I can assure you. You’d be the first to complain if this street were strewn with garbage. But do you do your share? Do you even clean up after yourself? Of course not! You leave it to me, even though I have to run all of the other functions of the city, night and day, without even Sundays off.”

Carmody bent down to pick up the candy wrapper. But just before his fingers could close on it, a pincer arm shot out of the nearest sewer, snatched the paper away and vanished from sight.

“It’s all right,” the city said. “I’m used to cleaning up after people. I do it all the time.”

“Yuh,” said Carmody.

“Nor do I expect any gratitude.”

“I’m grateful, I’m grateful!” Carmody said.

“No, you’re not,” Bellwether said.

“So okay maybe I’m not. What do you want me to say?”

“I don’t want you to say anything,” the city said. “Let us consider the incident closed.”

“Had enough?” the city said, after dinner.

“Plenty,” Carmody said.

“You didn’t eat much.”

“I ate all I wanted. It was very good.”

“If it was so good, why didn’t you eat more?”

“Because I couldn’t hold any more.”

“If you hadn’t spoiled your appetite with that candy bar…”

“Goddamn it, the candy bar didn’t spoil my appetite! I just—”

“You’re lighting a cigarette,” the city said.

“Yeah,” Carmody said.

“Couldn’t you wait a little longer?”

“Now look,” Carmody said. “Just what in hell do you—”

“But we have something more important to talk about,” the city said quickly. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do for a living?”

“I haven’t really had much time to think about it.”

“Well, I have been thinking about it. It would be nice if you became a doctor.”

“Me? I’d have to take special college courses, then get into medical school, and so forth.”

“I can arrange all that,” the city said.

“Not interested.”

“Well… What about law?”

“Never.”

“Engineering is an excellent line.”

“Not for me.”

“What about accounting?”

“Not on your life.”

“What do you want to be?”

“A jet pilot,” Carmody said impulsively.

“Oh, come now!”

“I’m quite serious.”

“I don’t even have an air field here.”

“Then I’ll pilot somewhere else.”

“You’re only saying that to spite me!”

“Not at all,” Carmody said. “I want to be a pilot, I really do. I’ve always wanted to be a pilot! Honest I have!”

There was a long silence. Then the city said, “The choice is entirely up to you.” This was said in a voice like death.

“Where are you going now?”

“Out for a walk,” Carmody said.

“At nine-thirty in the evening?”

”Sure. Why not?”

“I thought you were tired.”

“That was quite some time ago.”

“I see. And I also thought that you could sit here and we could have a nice chat.”

“How about if we talk after I get back?” Carmody asked.

“No, it doesn’t matter,” the city said.

“The walk doesn’t matter,” Carmody said, sitting down. “Come on, we’ll talk.”

“I no longer care to talk,” the city said. “Please go for your walk.”

“Well, good night,” Carmody said.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said, ‘good night.’”

“You’re going to sleep?”

“Sure. It’s late, I’m tired.”

“You’re going to sleep now?”

“Well, why not?”

“No reason at all,” the city said, “except that you have forgotten to wash.”

“Oh…. I guess I did forget: I’ll wash in the morning.”

“How long is it since you’ve had a bath?”

“Too long. I’ll take one in the morning.”

“Wouldn’t you feel better if you took one right now?”

“No.”

“Even if I drew the bath for you?”

“No! Goddamn it, no! I’m going to sleep!”

“Do exactly as you please,” the city said. “Don’t wash, don’t study, don’t eat a balanced diet. But also, don’t blame me.”

“Blame you? For what?”

“For anything,” the city said.

“Yes. But what did you have in mind, specifically?”

“It isn’t important.”

“Then why did you bring it up in the first place?”

“I was only thinking of you,” the city said.

“I realize that.”

“You must know that it can’t benefit me if you wash or not.”

“I’m aware of that.”

“When one cares,” the city went on, “when one feels one’s responsibilities, it is not nice to hear oneself sworn at.”

“I didn’t swear at you.”

“Not this time. But earlier today you did.”

“Well… I was nervous.”

“That’s because of the smoking.”

“Don’t start that again!”

“I won’t,” the city said. “Smoke like a furnace. What does it matter to me?”