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They walked with the peculiar slouch of the Darzent entity in its humanoid phase. The other six were the Darzent robot infantry. Two and a half meters high, impervious to any hand weapon, with built-in blasters and the Darzent version of the Stoltz gun. Their ship was in the background.
"Oh," said Snookums, sounding a little downhearted if a robot can be said to have a heart. "The reaction was based, then, upon a misconception. That makes the data invalid. I'll have to try again." "That won't be necessary, Snookums," the girl said firmly. "This man went out there because he thought a human life was in danger.
But as soon after that as he had started paying serious attention to his job again, he was fed up with it. "Too much paper work. All those forms. It's work for a robot, not a man," he'd told Betty when he quit. A lie. The paper work was, as he looked back on it, not bad at all; pleasant even, in a way. It was just nothing. Anything.
"Personality is something that no machine can ever have. Idiosyncrasies, yes. No two machines are identical. But any personality that an individual sees in a machine has been projected there by the individual himself; it exists only in the human mind. "A machine can only do what it is built to do, and teaching a robot is only a building process." She gave a short, hard laugh.
But the outlaws were not to win a foothold upon that inimical planet easily, nor were they to hold it without effort. Through the weird vegetation of the circle's bare edge there scuttled and poured along a horde of the metal-studded men if "men" they might be called who, ferocity incarnate, rushed the robot line.
Rath's iron face registered a rather corrugated disgust. People were useless as witnesses. Worse than useless, since they were frequently misleading. For reliability, give him a robot every time. "Didn't he mention anything significant?" "Let me think!" Haskins said, his face twisting into a fit of concentration. Rath waited. Mr. Follansby cleared his throat. "I was just thinking, Mr. Rath.
IX. The Jacobin Citizen Robot. Two characteristics of the upper class, wealth and education. Each of these is criminal. Measures against rich and well-to-do people. Affected in a mass and by categories. Measures against cultivated and polite people. Danger of culture and distinction. Proscription of "honest folks."
He could as easily have summoned them himself, or let the guards who would be in checking the room do it for him, but maybe it made a robot feel trusted and important to relay orders to other robots. Then he smiled again, this time in self-derision. A robot couldn't feel important, or anything else.
From inside came the hard sound of another robot voice, calling off an endless string of numbers. "Don't just stand there staring, friend," the robot urged. "Go right on through the door." Alan nudged Rat quizzically. "What is it?" "I'm a stranger here too. But I'd guess it was some sort of gambling place." Alan jingled the few coins he had in his pocket. "If we had time I'd like to stop off.
"What data, Snookums?" she asked carefully. "Where is He hiding?" They both looked at him. "Where is who hiding?" Leda asked. "God," said Snookums. "Why do you want to find God, Snookums?" Mike asked gently. "I have to watch Him," said the robot. "Why do you have to watch Him?" "Because He is watching me." "Does it hurt you to have Him watch you?" "No." "What good will it do you to watch Him?"
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