Philip Dick: James P. Crow

"It’s not a legend?” Ed demanded eagerly.

"There really is such a human. And he’s Class Two. Gone all the way up. Passed his Lists like that” McIntyre snapped his fingers. "The robs hush it up, but it’s a fact. And the news is spreading. More and more humans know.”

The two men had stopped by the service entrance of the enormous Structural Research Building. Robot officials moved busily in and out through the main doors, at the front of the building. Robot planners who guided Terran society with skill and efficiency.

Robots ran Earth. It had always been that way. The history tapes said so. Humans had been invented during the Total War of the Eleventh Millibar. All types of weapons had been tested and used; humans were one of many. The War had utterly wrecked society. For decades after, anarchy and ruin lay everywhere. Only gradually had society reformed under the patient guidance of robots. Humans had been useful in the reconstruction. But why they had originally been made, what they had been used for, how they had served in the War —all knowledge had perished in the hydrogen bomb blasts. The historians had to fill in with conjecture. They did so.

“Why such a strange name?” Ed asked. McIntyre shrugged. “AH I know is he’s sub-Advisor to the Northern Security Conference. And in line for the Council when he makes Class One.”

“What do the robs think?”

“They don’t like it. But there’s nothing they can do. The law says they have to let a human hold a job if he’s qualified. They never thought a human would be qualified, of course. But this Crow passed his Lists.

“It certainly is strange. A human, smarter than the robs. I wonder why.”

“He was an ordinary repairman. A mechanic, fixing machinery and designing circuits. Unclassified, of course. Then suddenly he passed his first List. Entered Class Twenty. He rose the next biannual to Class Nineteen. They had to put him to work.” McIntyre chuckled. "Too damn bad, isn’t it? They have to sit with a human being.” "How do they react?”

"Some quit. Walk out, rather than sit with a human. But most stay. A lot of robs are decent. They try hard.”

"I'd sure like to meet this fellow Crow.” McIntyre frowned. "Well—”

"What is it?”

"I understand he doesn’t like to be seen with humans too much.”

"Why not?" Ed bristled. "What’s wrong with humans? Is he too high and mighty, sitting up there with robots—”

"It’s not that.” There was a strange look in McIntyre’s eyes. A yearning, distant look. "It’s not just that, Ed. He’s up to something. Something important. I shouldn’t be saying. But it’s big. Big as hell.”

"What is it?"

"I can’t say. But wait until he gets on the Council. Wait.” McIntyre’s eyes were feverish. "It's so big it’ll shake the world. The stars and the sun’ll shake.”

"What is it?”

"I don’t know. But Crow’s got something up his sleeve. Something incredibly big. We're all waiting for it. Waiting for the day ”

JAMES P. CROW sat at his polished mahogany desk, thinking. That wasn’t his real name, of course. He had taken it after the first experiments, grinning to himself as he did so. Nobody would ever know what it meant; it would remain a private joke, personal and unannounced. But it was a good joke nonetheless. Biting and appropriate.

He was a small man. Irish-German. A little lean light-skinned man with blue eyes and sandy hair that fell down in his face and had to be brushed back. He wore unpressed baggy pants and rolled-up sleeves. He was nervous, high-strung. He smoked all day and drank black coffee and usually couldn’t sleep at night. But there was a lot on his mind.

A hell of a lot. Crow got abruptly to his feet and paced over to the vidsender. "Send in the Commissioner of Colonies,” he ordered.

The Commissioner’s metal and plastic body pushed through the door, into the office. An R Type robot, patient and efficient. "You wished to—” It broke off, seeing a human. For a second its pale eye lens flickered doubtfully. A faint sheen of distaste spread across its features. "You wished to see me?”

Crow had seen that expression before. Endless times. He was used to it—almost. The surprise, and then the lofty withdrawal, the cold, clipped formality. He was "Mister Crow.” Not Jim. The law made them address him as an equal. It hurt some of them more than others. Some showed it without restraint. This one held its feelings back a trifle; Crow was its official superior.

"Yes, I wished to see you,” Crow said calmly. "I want your report. Why hasn’t it come in?”

The robot stalled, still lofty and withdrawn. "Such a report takes time. We’re doing the best we can.”

"I want it within two weeks. No later." The robot struggled with itself, life-long prejudices versus the requirements of Governmental codes. "All right, sir. The report will be ready in two weeks,” It moved out of the office. The door formed behind it.

Crow let his breath out with a rush. Doing the best they could? Hardly. Not to please a human being. Even if he was at Advisory Level, Class Two. They all dragged their feet, all the way down the line. Little things here and there.

His door melted and a robot wheeled quickly into the office. "I say there, Crow. Got a minute?”

"Of course.” Crow grinned. "Come in and sit down. I’m always glad to talk to you.”

The robot dumped some papers on Crow's desk. "Tapes and such. Business trifles.” It eyed Crow intently. "You look upset. Anything happen?”

"A report I want. Overdue. Somebody taking its time.”

L-87t grunted. "Same old stuff. By the way . . . We’re having a meeting tonight. Want to come over and make a speech? Should have a good turn out.”

"Meeting?”

"Party meeting. Equality.” L-87t made a quick sign with its right gripper, a sort of half-arc in the air. The Equality sign. "We’d be glad to have you, Jim. Want to come?”

"No. I’d like to, but I have things to do.”

“Oh.” The robot moved toward the door. "All right. Thanks anyhow.” It lingered at the door. "You’d give us a shot in the arm, you know. Living proof of our contention that a human being is the equal of a robot and should be afforded such recognition.”

Crow smiled faintly. "But a human isn’t the equal of a robot.”

L-87t sputtered indignantly. "What are you saying? Aren’t you the living proof? Look at your List scores. Perfect. Not a mistake. And in a couple of weeks you’ll Be Class One. Highest there is.”

Crow shook his head. "Sorry. A human isn’t the equal of a robot anymore than he’s the equal of a stove. Or a diesel motor. Or a snowplow. There are a lot of things human can’t do. Let’s face facts.”

L-87t was baffled. "But—”

"I mean it. You’re ignoring reality. Humans and robots are completely different. We humans can sing, act, write plays, stories, operas, paint, design sets, flower gardens, buildings, cook delicious meals, make love, scratch sonnets on menus—and robots can’t. But robots can build elaborate cities and machines that function perfectly, work for days without rest, think without emotional interruption, gestalt complex data without a time lag.

"Humans excel in some fields, robots in others. Humans have highly developed emotions and feelings. Esthetic awareness. We’re sensitive to colors and sounds and textures and soft music mixed with wine. All very fine things. Worthwhile. But realms totally beyond robots. Robots are purely intellectual. Which is fine, too. Both realms are fine. Emotional humans, sensitive to art and music and drama. Robots who think and plan and design machinery. But that doesn’t mean we’re both the same.”

L-87t shook its head sadly. "I don’t understand you, Jim, Don’t you want to help your race?”