Simak, Cliffard D - All The Traps Of Earth - Notisblokk

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Simak, Cliffard D - All The Traps Of Earth

Clifford D.Simak. All the traps of Earth

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Prepared by: Anada Sucka, August 12, 1999

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THE INVENTORY list was long. On its many pages, in his small and

precise script, he had listed furniture, paintings, china, silverware and

all the rest of it - all the personal belongings that had been accumulated

by the Barringtons through a long family history.

And now that he had reached the end of it, he noted down himself, the

last item of them all:

One domestic robot, Richard Daniel, antiquated but in good repair.

He laid the pen aside and shuffled all the inventory sheets together

and stacked them in good order, putting a paper weight upon them - the

little exquisitely carved ivory paper weight that aunt Hortense had picked

up that last visit she had made to Peking.

And having done that, his job came to an end.

He shoved back the chair and rose from the desk and slowly walked

across the living room, with all its clutter of possessions from the

family's past. There, above the mantel, hung the sword that ancient Jonathon

had worn in the War Between the States, and below it, on the mantelpiece

itself, the cup the Commodore had won with his valiant yacht, and the jar of

moon-dust that Tony had brought back from Man's fifth landing on the Moon,

and the old chronometer that had come from the long-scrapped family

spacecraft that had plied the asteroids.

And all around the room, almost cheek by jowl, hung the family

portraits, with the old dead faces staring out into the world that they had

helped to fashion.

And not a one of them from the last six hundred years, thought Richard

Daniel, staring at them one by one, that he had not known.

There, to the right of the fireplace, old Rufus Andrew Barrington, who

had been a judge some two hundred years ago. And to the right of Rufus,

Johnson Joseph Barrington, who had headed up that old lost dream of mankind,

the Bureau of Paranormal Research. There, beyond the door that led out to

the porch, was the scowling pirate face of Danley Barrington, who had first

built the family fortune.

And many others - administrator, adventurer, corporation chief. All

good men and true.

But this was at an end. The family had run out.

Slowly Richard Daniel began his last tour of the house - the family

room with its cluttered living space, the den with its old mementos, the

library and its rows of ancient books, the dining hall in which the crystal

and the china shone and sparkled, the kitchen gleaming with the copper and

aluminum and the stainless steel, and the bedrooms on the second floor, each

of them with its landmarks of former occupants. And finally, the bedroom

where old Aunt Hortense had finally died, at long last closing out the line

of Barringtons.

The empty dwelling held a not-quite-haunted quality, the aura of a

house that waited for the old gay life to take up once again. But it was a

false aura. All the portraits, all the china and the silverware, everything

within the house would be sold at public auction to satisfy the debts. The

rooms would be stripped and the possessions would be scattered and, as a

last indignity, the house itself be sold.

Even he, himself, Richard Daniel thought, for he was chattel, too. He

was there with all the rest of it, the final item on the inventory.

Except that what they planned to do with him was worse than simple

sale. For he would be changed before he was offered up for sale. No one

would be interested in putting up good money for him as he stood. And,

besides, there was the law - the law that said no robot could legally have

continuation of a single life greater than a hundred years.

And he had lived in a single life six times a hundred years. He had

gone to see a lawyer and the lawyer had been sympathetic, but had held forth

no hope.

"Technically," he had told Richard Daniel in his short, clipped lawyer

voice, "you are at this moment much in violation of the statute. I

Side 1

Simak, Cliffard D - All The Traps Of Earth

completely fail to see how your family got away with it."

"They liked old things," said Richard Daniel. "And, besides, I was very

seldom seen. I stayed mostly in the house. I seldom ventured out."

"Even so," the lawyer said, "there are such things as records. There

must be a file on you..."

"The family," explained Richard Daniel, "in the past had many

influential friends. You must understand, sir, that the Barringtons, before

they fell upon hard times, were quite prominent in politics and in many

other matters."

The lawyer grunted knowingly.

"What I can't quite understand," he said, "is why you should object so

bitterly. You'll not be changed entirely. You'll still be Richard Daniel."

"I would lose my memories, would I not?'

"Yes, of course you would. But memories are not too important. And

you'd collect another set."

"My memories are dear to me," Richard Daniel told him.

"They are all I have. After some six hundred years, they are my sole

worthwhile possession. Can you imagine, counselor, what it means to spend

six centuries with one family?"

"Yes, I think I can," agreed the lawyer. "But now, with the family

gone, isn't it just possible the memories may prove painful?"

"They're a comfort. A sustaining comfort. They make me feel important.

They give me perspective and a niche."

"But don't you understand? You'll need no comfort, no importance once

you're reoriented. You'll be brand new. All that you'll retain is a certain

sense of basic identity - that they cannot take away from you even if they

wished. There'll be nothing to regret. There'll be no leftover guilts, no

frustrated aspirations, no old loyalties to hound you."

"I must be myself," Richard Daniel insisted stubbornly. "I've found a

depth of living, a background against which my living has some meaning. I

could not face being anybody else."

"You'd be far better off," the lawyer said wearily. "You'd have a

better body. You'd have better mental tools. You'd be more intelligent."

Richard Daniel got up from the chair. He saw it was no use.

"You'll not inform on me?" he asked.

"Certainly not," the lawyer said. "So far as I'm concerned, you aren't

even here."

"Thank you," said Richard Daniel. "How much do I owe you?"

"Not a thing," the lawyer told him. "I never make a charge to anyone

who is older than five hundred."

He had meant it as a joke, but Richard Daniel did not smile. He had not

felt like smiling.

At the door he turned around.

"Why?" he was going to ask. "Why this silly law."

But he did not have to ask - it was not hard to see.

Human vanity, he knew. No human being lived much longer than a hundred

years, so neither could a robot. But a robot, on the other hand, was too

valuable simply to be junked at the end of a hundred years of service, so

there was this law providing for the periodic breakup of the continuity of

each robot's life. And thus no human need undergo the psychological

indignity of knowing that his faithful serving man might manage to outlive

him by several thousand years.

It was illogical, but humans were illogical.

Illogical, but kind. Kind in many different ways.

Kind, sometimes, as the Barringtons had been kind, thought Richard

Daniel. Six hundred years of kindness. It was a prideful thing to think

about. They had even given him a double name. There weren't many robots

nowadays who had double names. It was a special mark of affection and

respect.

The lawyer having failed him, Richard Daniel had sought another source

of help. Now, thinking back on it, standing in the room where Hortense

Barrington had died, he was sorry that he'd done it. For he had embarrassed

the religico almost unendurably. It had been easy for the lawyer to tell him

what he had. Lawyers had the statutes to determine their behavior, and thus

suffered little from agonies of personal decision.

But a man of the cloth is kind if he is worth his salt. And this one

had been kind instinctively as well as professionally, and that had made it

worse.

Side 2

Simak, Cliffard D - All The Traps Of Earth

"Under certain circumstances," he had said somewhat awkwardly, "I could

counsel patience and humility and prayer. Those are three great aids to

anyone who is willing to put them to his use. But with you I am not

certain."

"You mean," said Richard Daniel, "because I am a robot." "Well, now..."

said the minister, considerably befuddled at this direct approach.

"Because I have no soul?"

"Really," said the minister miserably, "you place me at a disadvantage.

You are asking me a question that for centuries has puzzled and bedeviled

the best minds in the church."

"But one," said Richard Daniel, "that each man in his secret heart must

answer for himself."

"I wish I could," cried the distraught minister. "I truly wish I

could."

"If it is any help," said Richard Daniel, "I can tell you that

sometimes I suspect I have a soul."

And that, he could see, had been most upsetting for this kindly human.

It had been, Richard Daniel told himself, unkind of him to say it. For it

must have been confusing, since coming from himself it was not opinion only,

but expert evidence.

So he had gone away from the minister's study and come back to the

empty house to get on with his inventory work.

Now that the inventory was all finished and the papers stacked where

Dancourt, the estate administrator, could find them when be showed up in the

morning, Richard Daniel had done his final service for the Barringtons and

now must begin doing for himself.

He left the bedroom and closed the door behind him and went quietly

down the stairs and along the hallway to the little cubby, back of the

kitchen, that was his very own.

And that, he reminded himself with a rush of pride, was of a piece with

his double name and his six hundred years. There were not too many robots

who had a room, however small, that they might call their own.

He went into the cubby and turned on the light and closed the door

behind him.

And now, for the first time, he faced the grim reality of what he meant

to do.

The cloak and hat and trousers hung upon a hook and the galoshes were

placed precisely underneath them. His attachment kit lay in one corner of

the cubby and the money was cached underneath the floor board he had

loosened many years ago to provide a hiding place.

There was, he, told himself, no point in waiting. Every minute counted.

He had a long way to go and he must be at his destination before morning

light.

He knelt on the floor and pried up the loosened board, shoved in a hand

and brought out the stacks of bills, money hidden through the years against

a day of need.

There were three stacks of bills, neatly held together by elastic bands

- money given him throughout the years as tips and Christmas gifts, as

birthday presents and rewards for little jobs well done.

He opened the storage compartment located in his chest and stowed away

all the bills except for half a dozen which he stuffed into a pocket in one

hip.

He took the trousers off the hook and it was an awkward business, for

he'd never worn clothes before except when he'd tried on these very trousers

several days before. It was a lucky thing, he thought, that long-dead Uncle

Michael had been a portly man, for otherwise the trousers never would have

fit.

He got them on and zippered and belted into place, then forced his feet

into the overshoes. He was a little worried about the overshoes. No human

went out in the summer wearing overshoes. But it was the best that he could

do. None of the regular shoes he'd found in the house had been nearly large

enough.

He hoped no one would notice, but there was no way out of it. Somehow

or other, he had to cover up his feet, for if anyone should see them, they'd

be a giveaway.

He put on the cloak and it was a little short. He put on the hat and it

was slightly small, but he tugged it down until it gripped his metal skull

and that was all to the good, he told himself; no wind could blow it off.

Side 3

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Simak, Cliffard D - All The Traps Of Earth - Notisblokk

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