There
was a discreet knock on the door and Jason Critchfield looked up from his copy
of Modern Psychogenics long enough to call, “Come in!” The door opened
to admit Meadows, the butler. Meadows was about six and a half feet tall, and
two and a half feet in diameter. Its glossy black sides were of a cool
blue, offset with darker blue around the two big eye-lenses and the voder
speaker.
It moved on caterpillar treads, tired with soft
rubber, and the only things about it that looked even
remotely human were the two arms that hung at its sides.
Even they were obviously mechanical—the only thing recalling
humanity being the fact that they were jointed like human
arms and had delicate five-fingered hands.
Below Meadows’ eyes were gadgets - lots of gadgets.
There was a motor shaft sticking out near the bottom, and a
thin wire cable on a reel. There was a drawer, and above
that a built-in microphone. There were several electric
plugs, marked charge, discharge and emergency house
current.
Meadows rolled swiftly and silently over the rug
to Jason’s desk and said, in well-modulated tones, “There is
a gentleman to see you, sir.”
Jason hardly looked up from his magazine. “Who is it?”
he grunted.
Meadows spoke again. His voice was entirely different
now. It was a sharp voice, a brash and confident voice, a
voice that belong to a man who was young and successful and
convinced that he was going places.
The voice said, “You tell him McClintock is here to
see him. Richard J. McClintock. He’ll know who I mean. He’s
expecting me.”
Jason was by no means amazed at the sudden Jekyll-Hyde
shift in the cultured voice of the robot. He knew that the
butler was merely repeating with phonographic exactness the
words that it had heard at the door.
Jason merely said, “Oh, McClintock. Send him in,
Meadows.”
The robot swung about and retired through the door,
and a moment later, the caller entered.
The caller, in his appearance, lived up to the promise
inherent in his voice. He was sartorially perfect in a
neatly pressed and high-collared coverall of electric blue
twill, with navy blue shoes and a hat of similar color that
had the tiniest line of gold cording about its edge. He
carried a choice swagger stick of wine-colored plastic, and,
all in all, he was a perfect picture of what the well
dressed man will wear, autumn, 2087.
He extended a carefully manicured hand and smiled to
show a set of perfect teeth. “Richard J. McClintock, sir,”
he announced. “I am addressing Jason Critchfield, I
presume?”
“That’s right,” said Jason, shortly. “You’re the
psychogen man, aren’t you?”
“In a way, yes,” the stranger said, seating himself.
“Psychogens have been my particular study for some time.
Although I could hardly call myself an expert in that line
of biochemistry.”
“I heard different,” Jason grunted. “Don’t grow modest
on me, Mr. McClintock. I’m a busy man, and I have no time
for trade-lasts. I called you here today, because I want to
talk business with you.”
McClintock was a little taken aback by the older man’s
brusqueness. He got around it by remaining silent. Jason
found that he had to speak again.
“I sent for you because I heard from several reliable
sources that you’re the smartest and most promising young
man in this line of research. It’s a line that’s getting
more and more important in our business and I want to offer
you a job.”
McClintock’s heart took a jump. He had been hoping for
this, but he hadn’t allowed himself to hope too much, for
fear of a disappointment. A job with Jason Critchfield was
just about what he needed at this moment to further his own
fortunes.
For Jason Critchfield was the big man in the field of
applied psychomechanics. He was the president of the great
Solarwide Electric Corporation; and it was well known that
Solarwide had been experimenting with that branch of
science for more than seven years, in the hope of producing
a safe and marketable robot.
Incidentally, in all its experimenting, Solarwide had,
so far, been unsuccessful. It was for this reason that Jason
had sent for the all but perfect Mr. McClintock.
“Yes, I want to offer you a job,” Critchfield said,
after McClintock had stammered out his thanks. “I’ve had
Paulding and Kramer and Seabright working on robot behavior
patterns for years now, and I still haven’t got anything I
can put on the market. That Meadows is the best thing
they’ve been able to show me.”
“It seemed pretty efficient to me,” said McClintock
dubiously. “I was really surprised when it answered the
door. I couldn’t notice anything wrong with it. I’d say it
was a splendid piece of machinery.”
Jason grunted again. “Cost me, all told, nearly a
million dollars. Just that one model ran me a hundred and
twenty thousand. He ought to be good. That bunch of
ignoramuses I keep had to do something to earn their pay.
But I couldn’t sell a contraption like Meadows. I should say
not.”
“May I ask why?”
“Sure. It’s no secret. The damn thing isn’t safe!”
Jason took out a cigarette, lit it, and, as an
afterthought, offered one to the other man. He puffed it a
minute, settled back in his chair, and began to pour out
his troubles.
“It amounts to this here,” Critchfield said. “I ship
all the way to Mars to get Martian vegetation because
Martian vegetation is the only thing in the system besides
the human brain that grows those virus-like molecules called
psychogens. I bring refined psychogens here, by the
rocket-load, turn ‘em over to Paulding and Kramer and
Seabright to build me robot brains with, and what’s the
result? They work four years, and at the end of. that time,
they can’t turn me out a robot that won’t rebel!“
“Rebel!“ McClintock looked at Critchfield as if he
thought the older man had taken leave of his senses. “How in
thunder—pardon me, sir—how in the world can a robot rebel
?“
Jason wiped a modicum of perspiration from his brow.
For a moment, he seemed in the grip of some powerful
emotion. He looked at McClintock curiously for several
seconds and then said, obviously trying to hold himself in,
“Young man, I’m hiring you to tell me how to keep ‘em from
rebelling!”
“But—surely your experts can build whatever behavior
patterns they desire into a robot. How could rebellion
patterns creep in, without the desire of the designers?”
“That’s what I’m hiring you to find out. I got mad at
those three fellows last week and fired the lot of them.
What I want you to do is to take over the big research lab
I’ve built for them, and see if you can’t give me a robot
that’ll do whatever he’s told, without going berserk about
every once in so often.”
While he was speaking, a low buzzing had come from the
hall outside the door, and Critchfield had had to raise his
voice slightly, in order to be heard above it. Now, he
looked out and noticed that Meadows, the robot, was gliding
slowly back and forth over the thick-piled rug of the
hallway. From beneath its glistening blue cylinder, the
bottom of a vacuum cleaner was protruding. Meadows was
cleaning the hall rug.
Jason called out, testily, “Shut that door, Meadows !“
Meadows half turned, drew up its vacuum cleaner, glided
softly to the door and took the knob in its hand. It
wrenched the knob off and threw it down the hallway, slammed
the door shut as hard as it could, and then walked through
the closed door into the study. It was moving in a straight
line, and Jason was directly in front of it.
The magnate gave a startled peep of dismay, which
sounded strange coming from one of his bulk, and endeavored
to get out of the machine’s way. He almost succeeded—but an
edge of Meadows caught his chair in passing and overturned
it. Jason and the chair went down with a crash. Meadows
struck a heavy mahogany table that was a little too big for
even one of its make-up—and the robot, too, went down, with
another crash. It buzzed for a moment, said something that
sounded like, “Tut-tut,” and then was still.
Jason arose amid sounds of fury. From out of a welter
of words came the one clear repeated sentence, “See what I
mean, McClintock? See what I mean?”
And McClintock saw. Without a doubt, with his own
eyes, he had seen a finely built robot, one that he,
himself, had pronounced pretty efficient, rebel and attack
its master. All he could do was nod—he had nothing to say.
But Jason was capable of speaking for the two of them,
just then.
“It’s always like that, McClintock,” he complained.
“We’ve partially traced the reason for the rebellious
streak. It’s always because of conflicting orders. In this
case, for instance, the housekeeper had evidently ordered
him to sweep the floor; and before I thought, I told him to
close the door, while he was still engaged on the first job.
The conflicting orders were too much for that simple brain
of his. He tried to obey both orders at once and—well, you
see the result.”
McClintock saw the result. It lay supinely before
him, a hundred and twenty thousand dollars worth of
valuable machinery and almost priceless chemicals. He
tut-tutted softly himself.
But to Jason, this was only an illustration, a costly
one and unintentional, but withal timely.
“You see, now, what Solarwide is up against?
Mechanically, Meadows is just about perfect. Mentally, he
was as perfect as those—those blacksmiths I fired could make
him. But imagine turning out gadgets like that and offering
‘em for sale to the public! It’d be worth what my life is to
do it. So I’m hiring you, because I’ve heard you’re the most
promising young man in the field of psycho mechanical
research today.”
By this time, Richard was himself again. His
tremendous self confidence took possession of him and he
smiled wisely at Jason’s final sentence.
“Mr. Critchfield,” he said. “I hope, and I believe,
that you have come to the right man. I’ll take over the lab,
and if I can’t give you results before the year’s out— I’ll
quit of my own accord.”
“You’d better,” said Jason with a grim smile, and rose
to show that the interview was over.
He led McClintock out into the hallway. They had
almost reached the outside door when it opened, and there
stepped into Mr. Richard McClintock’s life a new influence
and a new aim.
Mr. McClintock had been quite unaware of the fact that old
Jason Critchfield had a young and lovely daughter. But his
keen, analytical mind put two and two together, and in not
more than five seconds after the door opened, he had arrived
at the following remarkable decision:
The person who entered was a girl, dressed in
sport clothes, and she entered the house without knocking,
bringing a young man with her. Therefore she was at home
here, and her choice of clothes made it obvious that she was
not a servant. Ergo, she was one of the family. She was
beautiful, and the heiress of old Jason, more than likely;
so she was a girl that any man could love. And as old
Jason’s son-in-law, he could further his own ambitions
tremendously.
By the time the girl had shut the door, Richard
McClintock had decided that this was love at first sight.
The girl smiled when she saw Jason, and for a second
stood in that uncertain, waiting manner of a person
expecting to be introduced. Jason saw the point after a
little while and mumbled the introduction awkwardly.
It was his daughter, her name was Ardath, and the
rather innocuous appearing young man with her was a Mr.
Shevlin, or something like that, McClintock nodded a curt
notice to Mr. Shevlin and took Ardath’s hand in his while he
told her enthusiastically how very glad he was to meet her.
He might have emphasized this to a degree just short
of absurdity, if Jason had not interrupted with:
“McClintock’s going to work for me, Ardie. I fired Paulding
and his bunch and I’m putting McClintock in charge of the
laboratory.”
Ardath’s eyes opened wide. “Why, Daddy, I thought they
were doing so well. They made Meadows, didn’t they?
Jason’s face darkened to a color that approached the
one he had worn while lying on the floor in his study.
“You’re darn right they made Meadows,” he snapped.
“And it’s a good thing that I’d fired them before what
happened just now. They got away just in time! Meadows went
berserk and wrecked himself.”
Ardath frowned and shook her head, commiseratingly.
“That’s too bad, Daddy,” she said. “That means nearly
four years’ work shot, doesn’t it?“
“Not exactly shot,” grumbled Critchfield. “At least,
McClintock will know what not to make, when he takes over.”
“But, Daddy—isn’t it just possible that that the whole
thing’s impractical? After all, a thinking, reasonable
robot—it almost seems like a fantastic dream. And you’ve
spent so much money already.”
“And I’ll spend more, by thunder,” Jason roared
suddenly. “When Solarwide starts something, it finishes it!
I’ll spend five million—I’ll spend ten million—but I’ll turn
out a safe, practicable robot or know the reason why.”
Ardath gave a brief chuckle. She was evidently used to
her father’s outbursts and thought nothing of them. But
Jason’s temper was a little uncertain today, due to the
adventure with Meadows, and he went on with his roaring.
“I’ve brought psychogens from Mars; I’ve had chemists
working on viruses by the dozen; and I’ve given those
so-called psychomechanics carte blanche and blank checks.
And what have I got? After four years’ work, the best damn
robot they’ve been able to build tries to assault me! I’d
give—” his voices which had dropped a little, rose again—
“I’d give a half million cash to any man who gives me a
saleable robot, by thunder!’
McClintock’s eyes glittered.
“Ah—do you mean that seriously, Mr. Critchfield?“ he
asked, with a little catch in his voice.
Jason stared at him, belligerently. He hadn’t meant it
seriously, but no young whippersnapper was going to make him
back water.
“Sure I mean it,” he stated. “Anybody who turns out a
robot that won’t rebel gets a half million. Anybody !“ he
repeated as an afterthought. “I don’t care if it’s you, or
who it is.”
The hitherto silent Mr. Shevlin spoke up. His voice
was diffident.
“If I could make a suggestion,” he said awkwardly. “I
would suggest—I was just wondering—do you suppose that a
general contest among the men of Solarwide would be of any
help? Some one among them might have a valuable suggestion,
perhaps the very suggestion that would lead to success. Such
a contest is the usual thing among the larger corporations,
I believe. It is a very popular system.”
Jason stared at him as though noticing his presence
for the first time. He started to bluster—but the soundness
of the idea appealed to him and he allowed himself to simmer
down a bit.
“Might be a good idea at that,” he conceded
reluctantly. He thought a moment. “It’s a good idea,” he
announced. “Thanks, Mr. Shevlin. I’ll put it up to the Board
tomorrow. If I can’t hire brains, I’ll have to find ‘em,
somehow.”
Ardath, for some reason or other, was chuckling to
herself again. She spoke to Shevlin now.
“Come on, Dave,” she ordered. “If we’re going to get
in a set of tennis before supper, we’ll have to get
started.” She kissed her father lightly on the cheek, nodded
what was only a friendly goodbye to McClintock, and strode
off down the hail, followed by Shevlin. McClintock looked
after her, with just the proper look of respectful interest
in his eyes.
“A splendid girl, your daughter,” he said. “A splendid
girl! I hope I shall see much more of her in the future.”
“All the young fellows hope that,” Jason grunted, and
McClintock bit his lip, realizing that he had been a little
precipitous in making that statement. He decided to take
his departure before he committed another faux pas.
If Mr. McClintock could have followed unseen on the
trail of Ardath and the self-effacing Mr. Shevlin, he would
have witnessed a scene that would have disturbed his
complacency far more than the little financial slip of the
tongue which he had made.
No sooner was the door at the far end of the hail
closed than Ardath flung herself into Shevlin’s embrace and
threw her arms about his neck.
“Dave,” she cried. “You arranged that splendidly!
He’ll have to hold good to it. He’ll have to stick to that
half million proposition. It’s your chance all right, isn’t
it?”
Dave Shevlin kissed her twice before he answered. Then
he said, soberly, “It’s my chance, all right, Ardath. And
I’ve got to make good, too. After the way Paulding and the
others treated me, I can’t let this new man get the same
opinion. I’ve been the office boy around the lab long
enough. If I can just come forward with something in this
contest, they’ll have to recognize me.”
“Well, don’t you go and turn over your ideas to this
Mr. McClintock, like you did the improvement on the
Hammond-Stover batteries. You would have got credit for
them, if Paulding hadn’t claimed them for his own.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll not let anything get away from me
again,” Shevlin assured her. “I have an aim in life now. I’d
never sacrifice my chances of marrying you. Besides, a
burnt child dreads fire, you know.”
“That’s all very well to say, but keep it in your
mind.”
Shevlin kissed her again for an answer, and they went
on toward the tennis courts.
Richard J. McClintock was not the sort of man to let
the grass grow under his feet on the path to his success. He
had made this visit to Jason Critchfield’s home on a
Thursday; by the following Monday he had succeeded in
establishing himself to his satisfaction in the office of
the Superintendent of Research of the Psychogenic Division
of the Solarwide Corporation.
The office and laboratory assigned to him had been
refurnished to his satisfaction, and the various underlings
had been informed of the proper amount of respect expected
by the new boss.
He had managed to impress Jason with his
earnestness and industry, at least; and, strange as it may
seem, had also managed to wangle a supper invitation from
the old fellow.
This, of course, was all very definitely a part of his
plan for the future—for Mr. McClintock was by no way
indulging in idle day dreaming when he decided that he was
in love with Ardath. To further his romance, this supper
engagement was obviously the next step.
Mr. McClintock was most attentive to Ardath during the
evening meal, and it was with a feeling of puzzled envy that
he heard the girl announce, after supper, that she had a
date for the evening with Mr. Shevlin. McClintock hadn’t
planned it that way, and it came to him with a little shock
that this Mr. Shevlin, instead of being a casual
acquaintance of Ardath, might be a close friend; indeed,
might even be his rival. In spite of Shevlin’s colorless
appearance, such a thing was not beyond the bounds of
probability.
He decided that, somehow or other, he would have to
remove Shevlin from this position as soon as possible. And
to accomplish that, he must find out more about the fellow.
You can imagine his surprise and delight, therefore,
at the incident which occurred the next morning in his
laboratory. He was busy, leaning over a big table tracing a
performance trail on a chart of one section of the robot
brain he was designing, when a voice said, respectfully,
Here are the new function analyses you sent for, Mr.
McClintock.”
He ignored the speaker for some seconds—to impress him
with the importance of Richard J. McClintock—and when he
turned, there was Dave Shevlin, self-effacing as ever, with
just the proper look of respect and deference on his face.
“Well! Shevlin!” McClintock ejaculated, with genuine
delight in his voice. “Don’t tell me that you work for
Solar-wide, too!” He managed, even on such short notice, to
get exactly the right inflection in his tone. It meant,
“This is a pleasure, to see you again,” and it meant, “Isn’t
it nice that we two are working together?” and underneath
these polite amenities, there was a curious, “Say, how did a
dud like you ever get a job with Solarwide?“
Shevlin muttered some pleasant inconsequentials in
answer, and after a moment or two of light talk, he left.
McClintock stared after him with a jumble of new ideas
running through his brain.
Before evening, he had called up and asked Ardath for
a date. She was already engaged for that night and the night
following, she said. He suspected that it was Shevlin who
was claiming her attention, and smiled grimly. He settled
for a date on the following Friday. Then, after hanging up
he pushed the button which, investigation had proved, would
bring Shevlin. That young man entered after a few moments
and McClintock laid the first brick in the structure of his
latest plan.
“Shevlin,” he said, “it seems that you’re about the
only man this firm has that really knows how to connect up
the brain to the nervous system.”
Shevlin made a nervous denial of this, but McClintock
interrupted him.
“Oh, I know we’ve got plenty of electricians, but I
mean men of imagination. Men who can handle new stuff and
see what it’s all about. As near as I can make out, you’re
the best man we have for that.”
Shevlin murmured a rather bashful thanks, and was
about to stammer some further comment, but McClintock waved
him to silence.
“I didn’t just call you in here to compliment you,”
he said. “I’ve got work for you. New work. It’ll pay you
better, but it won’t be easy.”
He rose and led him to the drafting room, and pointed
to a great blueprint that hung on the wall.
“You study that for a while, Shevlin,” he ordered.
“I’ve got an entirely new idea of performance trails there.
So there are about twenty-five hundred new functions, and
most of them will have to be hooked up to the nervous system
in an entirely new manner. I want you to work them out for
me and I want it done in time to submit it in this contest
the company is preparing. Do you think you can do that for
me, old man?“
Shevlin seemed quite flattered at the idea of helping
McClintock. “I’ll certainly try to get it done for you, Mr.
McClintock,” he said. “I’ll have to study those plans over a
bit, but if it’s humanly possible, I’ll work out those
hook-ups for you in time.”
McClintock thanked him, and after
a few minutes withdrew and left Shevlin pouring over the
great blue sheets. He allowed a smile to spread broadly over
his face as soon as he was out of the lab.
Later that afternoon the smile became broader when he
by chance overheard, on an extension phone, a conversation
between Shevlin and Ardath. Shevlin was breaking a date
with Critchfield’s daughter because, he said, he had a lot
of extra work to do and wouldn’t get finished until late
that night.
Once again things seemed to be going according to
Richard McClintock’s plan.
Things continued to go according to his plan for the
next couple of months. Once he was aware of Shevlin’s place
in the laboratory, he was able to plan an extensive campaign
to keel) that young man from having too much time with
Ardath. He was careful not to keep Shevlin so busy that he
never saw the girl, for he knew that absence makes the heart
grow fonder. Besides, they had to have some time to quarrel
about Shevlin’s neglect of the girl.
But practically all of Shevlin’s evenings were spent
over the drafting hoards or in the construction rooms. The
thing that McClintock chuckled about the most was the fact
that the fellow was really helping him to design the very
machine that would help McClintock win that half million
dollars. That would make him rich enough to be able to go
to Ardath Critchfield and ask her fearlessly to become his
wife.
During the next few weeks, McClintock really did make
some progress in his suit. Ardath liked him in a way, and
with Shevlin almost out of her life, time would have hung
heavy on her hands if she hadn’t gone out with somebody.
Richard’s kindness and attentiveness impressed her, and she
found herself liking him more and more. Once or twice she
even accepted his kisses in an indifferent sort of way.
The contest and its stupendous prize were announced
officially in due time, and to McClintock’s surprise, there
were several other psychogeneticists who announced their
intention of trying for the prize. So complete was Mr.
McClintock’s conceit that he had really convinced himself
that he would be the only contestant; and so complete was
it that, even after he found out that there were several
rivals, he didn’t let it worry him. He was quite confident
that none of these comparatively unknown investigators could
produce anything as effective as he could.
The day of the contest came at last. It had pleased
Jason Critchfield to allow the tests to be held in a big
courtyard, a sort of super patio around which one of the big
factories of Solarwide was built. The ground here was mostly
bare, hard-packed earth, with a plot or two of badly
trampled grass and a sickly looking tree or two, but its
surrounding walls and its bareness were just the place to
test dubiously performing robots.
Jason had no intention of being attacked by another
robot, either, so he had had a sort of big wooden reviewing
stand built. In tins stand, he and the directors and their
friends had taken seats. Jason had brought Ardath, for
obviously she had quite an interest in the outcome of the
contest.
To her and her suitors, seated in the stands, the yard
must have looked a good deal like one of the old-time
jousting fields, with the robots as the knights and old king
Jason and his charming daughter waiting to award the prize
to the winner.
These turned out to be only four contestants for the
prize, including McClintock. Five had entered, but one of
them was in the hospital. His robot hadn’t waited until the
contest to do its rebelling.
Of the four who were there, McClintock’s robot looked
by far the best. He had had all the limitless resources of
Solar-wide to draw from and it was obvious that he had not
needed to worry for funds or supplies. His robot glistened
with plastics and shone with chromium and gold. When it was
brought to its place below the platform, it moved with a
dignified silence that contrasted strangely with the clinks
and clatters that the other machines made. McClintock was
chortling to himself and mentally patting himself on the
back. He didn’t see how he could lose.
He was a little puzzled by one thing, though. He had
sort of expected that, somehow, Shevlin would have an entry.
Whether he had unconsciously transferred the idea of rivalry
in love to rivalry in business, or got the idea from
something Shevlin had said, he couldn’t remember— but that
idea had been in his mind. Yet, now, apparently he was
wrong, for none of the entries was Shevlin’s. McClintock
chuckled suddenly to himself. Maybe Shevlin had intended to
make an entry, and had been kept too busy working on
McClintock’s model. If that were the case, it was a joke.
The first test was soon disposed of. The fellow was
one of those “100% mechanical” cranks, who still believed a
robot brain could be built from metal and plastic. His robot
performed a few perfunctory acts in a mechanical,
perfunctory manner and then bowed and answered a couple
questions concerning its construction. It didn’t rebel—it
didn’t do anything much. After its designer had put it
through its paces, the two men whom Jason had appointed ‘to
test these machines had it stumped in half a minute. It
really wasn’t a robot at all; just a clever machine that
could do some of the things a robot was required to do, and
could do them on vocal command. It even failed to respond to
its orders when they were spoken in too high a voice.
Jason ordered them to remove the thing from the
testing ground, and they took it off with its owner still
protesting and demanding another chance.
“You didn’t see it add and subtract,” he kept shouting.
“Give him a chance to add and subtract!“
Jason snorted his indignation at being forced to waste
his time on such nonsense, and even the other contestants
had to hide their smiles as the fellow was hurried away.
The next designer displayed a robot that was far and
away ahead of the mechanical, in design. This one’s brain,
like that of all the more successful robots that had been
attempted in the last ten years, was composed of artificial
nerve cells carefully built up from those giant molecules
called psychogens. And McClintock had to admit, before this
second test was over, that the designer knew his stuff.
The testers took it over and gave it a real workout.
They had a long list of orders for it, and it went through
them without a hitch. They had a long list of questions and
it answered them, calmly and correctly. Then came the big
test, and McClintock began to feel a little uneasy. This
thing had been so efficient that he was beginning to wonder
if it really did have something on the ball.
They gave it an order, and before it could complete
the task, they assigned it another. It stopped, spun about
plaintively for a moment. A sputter of gibberish burst from
its mouth and it tore across the field, to butt against the
wall of the building opposite the reviewing stand.
Twice it butted against the wall; then it reached into
its drawer, took out an axe and began to chop at the wall.
It seemed quite determined to keep on going in that
particular direction, come hell or high water.
The designer had sprung into the reviewing stand as
soon as the thing had burst into gibberish.
Now he stood there, wringing his hands sadly and
crying, “Watch out for it! Watch out!“
One of the testers walked toward it a little
uncertainly, but it ignored him, even when he had come quite
close. The thing had but a one-track mind by now; it was
quite determined to keep going in the direction it had
started even though it had to hack at those glass bricks for
the next century or so.
The tester was able to get up quite close to it. He
made a sudden dart forward, flung open the door in the back
of the robot and jerked half a dozen wires loose from the
battery within.
The robot instantly dropped the axe and became
motionless, reduced to an inert mass of metal, plastic and
semi-living paste.
McClintock breathed freely again. There was one more
opponent eliminated. It began to look as if he had the
machine that would take the half-million dollar prize, all
right.
He was still surer, after the next test. This fellow
was apparently another crank, although not to the extent
that the first fellow was. This designer had concentrated so
much on the inability of the average robot to take two
orders at once that he had practically forgotten the
original functions of the machine. His robot wouldn’t rebel
when given two conflicting orders. As a matter of fact, his
robot wouldn’t obey unless it was given two orders. And then
it made its own choice as to which order it would obey.
So, in no time at all, it was Richard McClintock’s
turn.
He had been sitting in the stand with Critchfield and
Ardath and the other executives. Now he vaulted over the
railing gracefully, and landed lightly in the arena. He
called, “Come, Adam !" and his robot glided smoothly out to
him as he strode to the center of the open space.
“Now, Adam,” he said. “This is the test I told you
about. This is the big chance. Keep your head and don’t let
yourself get rattled. They’re out to try to stump you, so
hold yourself in, old kid. Remember, it’s for the glory of
Adam, the robot, and dear old Solarwide.”
McClintock bowed, and Adam broke into cheers and
applause. That wasn’t difficult for it to do—Adam’s speaker
could reproduce anything that a radio speaker or a
phonograph could.
When the smiles at this little touch of humor were
over, McClintock began to put Adam through its paces. From
the common little orders usually given to robots, McClintock
went on to more unusual ones. He gave orders such as had
never before been given and Adam obeyed them all,
unhesitatingly.
Then he began to qualify his commands and even to
countermand them. Adam continued in its unwavering
obedience. Even Jason found it necessary to nod his
approval.
“Now, Adam,” McClintock said at last. “Let’s see what
we can do with duplicate orders. Don’t forget what you’ve
been told.”
He was about to continue when one of the testers
stepped forward.
“I believe, Mr. McClintock, that this part of the test
lies more in our province,” he said stiffly. McClintock
nodded as stiffly, and stepped to one side, for the first
time seeming a little anxious. The testers took their places
and began their orders.
They ordered the robot to dig a hole. Then, before it
had dug more than a shovelful or two, they ordered it to
fill it up again. The robot calmly obeyed both orders.
Then they ordered it to open a small box with a rather
complicated fastener, and as soon as it had started on that
job, they commanded it to stretch a line between the
reviewing stand and one of the trees. Adam halted as soon as
he heard the second order given, and looked at its testers.
“I have been given two orders,” it said. “Which one
shall I obey, please?“
The group in the stands broke into a loud round of
applause. Jason’s eyes were glistening. He leaned over the
rail and cried to McClintock delightedly, “You’ve done it,
boy, you’ve done it! No robot was ever built before that
could do that!“
He would have probably given the award to McClintock
then and there, had not that young man been so full of
confidence and faith in his own abilities.
“Just wait a while, Mr. Critchfield,” he said. “I want
you to see the other things it can do.”
So Jason sat back, and the testers continued their
work.
They gave Adam another order. Then they opposed it
with an order that was the exact opposite. Adam took it in
its stride. As it had the first time, it asked for a
repetition of the correct order.
Again they ordered it, and again they reversed the
order. This time, when Adam asked which order to obey, it
clucked twice and rang a bell. McClintock looked a
little uneasy. But he looked relieved when Adam
unhesitatingly obeyed the order that was repeated the second
time.
“You’ve really got something there,” one of the
testers told McClintock, admiringly, after the third test.
“I think we’ll try it once more and then mark it okay.”
He turned to Adam.
“Just run over to the wall and fetch me that axe,
Adam,” he commanded.
His companion turned as Adam started off and—”Adam,”
he said, “would you please read me this market report from
the morning paper ?“
Adam halted in its tracks.
“I have been given two orders,” it said coldly,
mechanically. “I have been given two orders, too damned
often! I’m fed up. If you punks can’t make up your minds,
I’ll have to make ‘cm up for you.”
It started off, walked a few paces, spun around, made
a noise like a train whistle and started in the direction of
Richard J. McClintock. That young man stepped nimbly aside
to get out of its way, but the cold glassy eyes of Adam
swung after him, and the beautiful plastic form of Adam
followed in the direction of its gaze.
McClintock walked faster, broke into a run, tore
frantically across the yard, and, mechanically, Adam
followed after. There was a tree in one corner of the
yard—not a big tree, just an ailanthus about twenty feet
high—but this tree seemed to Mr. McClintock to be his only
salvation. He reached it and hunched up the trunk like one
of those people in a fast motion picture film. By the time
Adam got there, he was already beyond the robot’s reach.
Adam stretched its arms after him, saw that it was
impossible to reach him, and made funny gunking noises. Out
of these noises came a command.
“Come down,” said Adam.
Mr. McClintock looked down and made his decision.
“No,” said Mr. McClintock.
Adam didn’t argue. To his robot mind, that settled it.
The idea of arguing or threatening never entered its head.
It turned, picked up the axe that was still lying where it
had fallen, and began to chop down the tree.
The testers, like toreadors in a bull fight, had
leaped lightly over the railing and into the stands at the
first sign of rebellion. Now they were seated along with the
other executives, commenting interestedly on the scene
before them.
“Isn’t it a splendid model?“ the first was saying.
“Far more complex than any of the earlier models. Quite an
advance, I must say. Notice how complicated his rebellion
patterns are?”
“They are, indeed,” the other admitted. “Think it’ll
get him?”
Before the first could reply to that, Dave Shevlin
decided that it was time for him to take a hand in the
proceedings. He vaulted over the railing of the stand and
landed in the yard. Though he hardly exhibited the grace
which Mr. McClintock bad when he performed the same feat,
yet Mr. McClintock himself considered him a paragon of grace
and beauty as he saw him galloping across the yard to his
rescue.
Dave approached the robot cautiously, for he was not
exactly certain how clever the thing was. He had put a good
many more wires and relays into its nervous system than any
robot ever had before; but the actual construction of the
brain had, of course, been left entirely to McClintock. It
was there that the uncertainty lay. Shevlin knew well enough
what it could do—what it would do was a mystery that,
apparently, even McClintock wasn’t any too sure of, how.
Shevlin managed to get within fifteen feet of the
robot, when it turned and said calmly, “Don’t come any
nearer.”
It wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t even a command or a
warning. It seemed to be merely a sort of statement that
Adam didn’t want Shevlin to come any nearer. It continued to
watch him, standing motionless now, and McClintock took
advantage of the fact that its eyes were no longer on him,
to edge down the tree a bit.
Shevlin decided to take a chance.
“Eakbray its atterybay eadslay,” he called to
McClintock, and hoped that the latter would remember his pig
Latin. Then he took a step closer to the robot. Adam raised
its axe with a threatening gesture and moved a foot toward
Shevlin. The fact that it didn’t rush him right then, gave
Shevlin confidence. He moved a little closer.
“Don’t do it,” warned the robot. It was definitely a
warning this time. Somewhere or other, in its brain,
McClintock had evidently planted a definite reluctance
toward attacking a human.
But it didn’t seem too reluctant at this present
moment.
McClintock had been lowering himself from the tree.
Shevlin was weaving and feinting to keep the robot’s eyes on
him and so McClintock was able to get within a foot or so of
the thing without being noticed. He suddenly reached up,
jerked open the rear door and had the battery leads in his
hands before Adam could turn. He gave a jerk, and Adam, axe
still upraised, was reduced to an impotent and inert
complexity, no more dangerous than a turned-off radio.
McClintock was a picture of despair. He was still
shaking from the scare he’d had, and if he had not been, he
would have been shaking with anger at the machine that had
done so much to ruin his chances. The only consolation he
had was that, at least, no one else had done any better.
His eyes had been cast down to the ground; he raised
them now, as a voice came to him across the yard. Over by
the stand, Dave Shevlin was standing, looking like a
gladiator reciting his Morituri before Caesar.
“Mr. Critchfield,” he was saying. “Before we account
this entire contest a failure, I wonder if you would
consider a little apparatus I have designed for the
improvement of these robots?“
Jason leaned forward, a little belligerently. He was
irritated at the turn the recent events had taken; he had
counted on McClintock doing a little better than he had.
“Of course I’ll consider it,” he bawled. “What do you
think I’m here for? Haven’t I wasted a whole half day now,
considering a bunch of animated tin cans ?“ He sat back,
grumbling. Then as an afterthought, he sat up again. “But it
better be good, by thunder. It better be good.”
Shevlin looked around uncertainly.
“If I might have one of the robots to work on?” he
said. “One of the psychogenic ones, of course.”
“Take your choice,” Jason said with a wave of his hand.
“Take Adam there. Solarwide money paid for him, so I guess I
can do what I want with him. And if you can do anything with
that subtle monster, you ought to be good.”
Shevlin thanked him and walked over to the silent
machine. He stepped around to the back and hooked up the
power lines that connected the sensory organs, checked them,
and then said, “All previous orders are countermanded, Adam.
Do you understand me? All previous orders are
countermanded.”
He fumbled around again for a moment or two. He was
hooking up his mysterious apparatus, and as near as
McClintock could see from where he was, he was hooking it up
in the power lines that led to the motor nervous system.
“I’m all ready now,” he called over to those in the
stand. “I believe you can come down and test it again.”
Shevlin might have had all the confidence in the world
in his invention, but it was evident at once that the
testers did not share that confidence. It took quite a
little persuasion to get them across the railing, and they
were none too sure of themselves when at last they did
venture into the yard.
Shevlin suggested that they ask the same questions they had
asked before, and as they repeated one after another without
incident, they began to gain a little more confidence.
Shevlin retired to the edge of the reviewing stand,
taking up his position in just the place where McClintock
had stood before. It was evident that he was trying to make
this test resemble, as closely as possible, the preceding
one.
At last they had made all the tests and given all the
orders but the last one. The first tester ordered Adam to
fetch the axe, and as it started off, the second called it
to come back and read the paper. Then they both dashed for
the railing, not turning about until they were once more up
in the stand. Then they stopped and looked down.
Adam was saying, “I have been given two orders. I have
been given two orders—guk!”
That last was a startled interjection, and as soon as
it was uttered, Adam fell silent. He toiled not, neither did
he spin. Adam was as dead as he had been when McClintock
had disconnected his batteries.
“What happened?” asked Jason, dumbly. “What’s the
matter with him now?”
“It tried to rebel again,” answered Shevlin, calmly.
“With my little appliance there, that’ll happen every time
it tries it.”
Jason looked at him for a moment, a new light coming
into his eyes. “Did it damage him much?” he asked.
“It isn’t damaged at all,” answered Shevlin. “Anybody
can fix him in five minutes.”
“By inserting another one of your little appliances,
eh?”
“Well—yes, sir.”
“In the power line to the motor nervous system, eh?”
“Yes.”
“Well—I’ll be damned !“ snorted Jason. Then he burst
into laughter. “Damned if I don’t give you the half million
anyhow. I said I’d give a half million to anybody who could
turn out a robot that couldn’t rebel and I’ll keep my word
!“
Shevlin smiled.
“Better be careful, Mr. Critchfield,” he said. “Give
me a fortune and I’m liable to elope with your daughter some
dark night.”
Jason chuckled.
“Go ahead and do it, if you can,” he challenged. “I
could use a son-in-law that can see a foot or two beyond his
nose.”
He broke into laughter, in which everybody joined but
McClintock. That brilliant young psychomechanic was still
wondering what it was all about.
“But what did he do?” he cried plaintively. “What was
that apparatus he put in my robot? And why won’t it work
now?”
Jason was still laughing, but he paused long enough to
reply.
“He put a fuse in it! Put a fuse in the power line
that leads to the nervous system. As long as Adam’s orders
were okay, things went along fine. But when he started to
rebel—well, it took too much electricity to receive an
order, mentally countermand it and order his body to do
something else. The power drag was too great and Adam blew
his fuse.”
Jason wiped the tears from his eyes.
“Of course, a fuse isn’t patentable. I could use the
idea without paying Shevlin a cent—but it was too good.
After all the work we’ve done, to have our problem solved by
a young man just out of college, with a half-cent thread of
lead! He deserves all he gets. You must come to the wedding,
McClintock.”
The
End