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Updated: May 18, 2025
"Come on back and sit down," he invited. "Be with you in a moment." Then he switched on the phone again and went on talking something about prompter evaluation and transmission of reports and less reliance on robot equipment.
By this time the robot had edged out into the street, blocking Alan's path. "Are we going to have trouble with you too? It looks like everybody in this city is trying to sell something." The robot pointed invitingly toward the door. "Why not try it?" it cooed. "Simplest game ever devised. Everybody wins! Go on in, friend." Alan frowned impatiently.
"Where's Doc Fitz?" "He's still trying to get information out of Snookums. It's a weird thing, Mike a robot with a soul." "You don't mind talking about it?" "No; go ahead if you want." "All right, answer me a question," he said. "Can Snookums read English?" "Certainly. And Russian, and German, French, Chinese, and most of the other major languages of Earth." "He could read a book, then?" "Yes.
The robot secretary, like most working robots, was functional in form circuits and wires, mike, speaker, extension arms to type and to reach any file in the room, wheels for intra-office mobility. "Thanks, hon," said Ben. Nevertheless, robot secretaries were all programmed and rated female and it was wise to be polite to them. After all, they could think and had feelings.
As soon as the connections were completed, the robot backed swiftly out of the room, and Arcot turned on the magnet and the ray projector. Instantly, there was a sharp deflection of the kilovoltmeter. "I haven't yet closed the switch leading into the coil," he explained, "so there's no current." The ammeter needle hadn't moved.
They were relatively low-speed missiles, intended to blow up a robot ship that couldn't be hooked onto, because it was traveling too much faster or slower than the Platform it was intended to reach. The missiles went away. Then Joe faced about again in the direction of his prospective target. The Chief fumed Joe heard him but he duplicated Joe's maneuver.
But we're going to stay right here and do stevedoring and fighting too, if it comes to that until the job is done." And that was the way it was, too. Of stevedoring there was plenty. Two robot ships a day for weeks on end. Three ships a day for a time. Four. Sometimes things went smoothly, and the little space wagons could go out and bring back the great, rocket-scarred hulls from Earth.
A robot was nothing but steel and plastic and magnetized tape and photo-micro-positronic circuits, whereas a man His Imperial Majesty Paul XXII, for instance was nothing but tissues and cells and colloids and electro-neuronic circuits. There was a difference; anybody knew that.
Then I took the flight to Tokyo and then What does any of it matter anyway? I haven't bothered to put on the mother garb equating it as garbled garbage but who is to say that it is not better for the boy in the long term? I would need a lower IQ to constrict myself in instinctual roles like a content biological robot.
The place was dimly lit, as all Earther pleasure-places seemed to be. Alan saw a double row of tables spreading to the back of the parlor. At each table was an earnest-looking citizen hunched over a board, watching the pattern of lights in front of him come and go, change and shift. Another robot glided up to them. "May I see your card, please?" It purred.
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