Asimov, Isaac - The Bicentennial Man

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ISAAC ASIMOV

The Bicentennial Man

In the introduction to this Nebula Awards volume it was mentioned that science fiction writers-

successful science fiction writers--are unique. No one, however, is quite as unusual as Isaac

Asimov. He is unique in almost any direction you look. He has written more on more subjects, and

better on more subjects, and more unexpectedly on most subjects, and in more ways on more

subjects, than anyone else in the field. He writes poetry, limericks, short stories, novels,

essays, articles, nonfiction books, trilogies, jokes and so on-more of them than anyone else could

imagine. He has written the first successful science fiction detective story, after being told by

the revered John Campbell, long-time editor of ASTOUNDING and later ANALOG SCIENCE FICTION, that

it couldn't be done. He has written curious articles about chemicals that have not yet been

invented, such as a chemical that travels in time.

However did this remarkable man come to create this enormous body of work?

He was born January 2, 1920, apparently with an incredible appetite for reading and an equally

incredible ability to recall almost everything he has ever read. A third talent, which did not

surface until some little time after he had already made his name as a science fiction writer, was

the talent of taking the turgid prose in which a great many other people write about matters in

the field of science, history, and just about everything else, and turning it into a clear and

readable language so effective that other people came very close to remembering the facts so

presented as well as Isaac Asimov did himself. But it is as a writer of science fiction that we

know and treasure him best. From his early classics in the field, novels such as I, ROBOT, The

Foundation series, and PEBBLE IN THE SKY are some of his early science fiction that come to mind.

His magnificent story NIGHTFALL and a host of others down the years lead us now to the award

winning novelette which follows, THE BICENTENNIAL MAN. In it we are back again with Isaac Asimov's

three laws of robotics which have stood the test of time, and once again back up a novelette to be

remembered.

The Three Laws of Robotics

1. A robot may not injure a human being, or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to

harm.

2. A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict

with the First Law.

3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the

First or Second Law.

Andrew Martin said, "Thank you," and took the seat offered him. He didn't look driven to the last

resort, but he had been.

He didn't, actually, look anything, for there was a smooth blankness, to his face, except for the

sadness one imagined one saw in his eyes. His hair was smooth, light brown, rather fine; and he

had no facial hair. He looked freshly and cleanly shaved. His clothes were distinctly old-

fashioned, but neat, and predominantly a velvety red-purple in color.

Facing him from behind the desk was the surgeon The nameplate on the desk included a fully

identifying series of letters and numbers which Andrew didn't bother with. To call him Doctor

would be quite enough

"When can the operation be carried through, Doctor?" he asked.

Softly, with that certain inalienable note of respect that a robot always used to a human being,

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the surgeon said, "I am not certain, sir, that I understand how or upon whom such an operation

could be performed."

There might have been a look of respectful intransigence on the surgeon's face, if a robot of his

sort, in lightly bronzed stainless steel, could have such an expression-or any expression.

Andrew Martin studied the robot's right hand, his cutting hand, as it lay motionless on the desk.

The fingers were long and were shaped into artistically metallic, looping curves so -graceful and

appropriate that one could imagine a scalpel fitting them and becoming, temporarily, one piece

with them. There would be no hesitation in his work, no stumbling, no quivering, no mistakes. That

confidence came with specialization, of course, a specialization so fiercely desired by humanity

that few robots were, any longer, independently brained. A surgeon, of course, would have to be.

But this one, though brained, was so limited in his capacity that he did not recognize Andrew, had

probably never heard of him .

"Have you ever thought you would like to be a man?" Andrew asked.

The surgeon hesitated a moment, as though the question fitted nowhere in his allotted positronic

pathways. "But I am a robot, sir."

"Would it be better to be a man?"

"If would be better, sir, to be a better surgeon. I could not be so if I were a man, but only if I

were a more advanced robot. I would be pleased to be a more advanced robot."

"It does not offend you that I can order you about? That I can make you stand up, sit down, move

right or left, by merely telling you to do so?"

"It is my pleasure to please you, sir. If your orders were to interfere with my functioning with

respect to you or to any other human being, I would not obey you. The First Law, concerning my

duty to human safety, would take precedence over the Second Law relating to obedience. Otherwise,

obedience is my pleasure. Now, , upon whom am I to perform this operation?"

"Upon me," Andrew said.

"But that is impossible. It is patently a damaging operation."

"That does not matter," said Andrew, calmly. "I must not inflict damage," said the surgeon. "On a

human being, you must not," said Andrew, "but I, too, am a robot."

Andrew had appeared much more a robot when he had first been manufactured. He had then been as

much a robot in appearance as any that had ever existed smoothly designed and functional.

He had done well in the home to which he had been factors brought in those days when robots in

households, or on the planet altogether, had been a rarity. There had ` been four in the home: Sir

and Ma'am and Miss and, Little Miss. He knew their names, of -course, but he ", never used them.

Sir was Gerald Martin.

His own serial number was NDR- . . . He eventually forgot the numbers. It had been a long time, of

course; j but if he had wanted to remember, he could not- have ? forgotten. He had not wanted to

remember.

Little Miss had been the first to call him Andrew,

because she could not use the letters, and all the rest .

followed her in doing so.

Little Miss . . . She had lived for ninety years and,

was long since dead. He bad tried to call her Ma'am

once, but she would not allow it. Little Miss she had

been to her last day. s

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Andrew had been intended to perform the duties

of a valet, a butler, even a lady's maid. Those were

the experimental days for him and,. indeed, for all

robots anywhere save in the industrial and exploratory;

factories and stations off Earth. t

The Martins enjoyed him, and half the time he was

prevented from doing his work because Miss and Little

Miss wanted to play with him. It was Miss who first

understood how this might be arranged. "We order

you to play with us and you must follow orders."

"I am sorry, Miss, but a prior order from Sir must

surely take precedence."

But she said, "Daddy just said he hoped you would take care of the cleaning. That's not much of an

order. I order you."

Sir did not mind. Sir was fond of Miss and of Little Miss, even more than Ma'am was; and Andrew

was fond of them, too. At least, the effect they had upon his actions were those which in a human

being would have been called the result of fondness. Andrew thought of it as fondness for he did

not know any other word for it.

It was for Little Miss that Andrew had carved a pendant out of wood. She had ordered him to. Miss,

it seemed, had received an ivorite pendant with scrollwork for her birthday and Little Miss was

unhappy over it. She had only a piece of wood, which she gave Andrew together with a small kitchen

knife.

He had done it quickly and Little Miss had said, "That's nice, Andrew. I'll show it to Daddy."

Sir would not believe it. "Where did you really get this, Mandy?" Mandy was what he called Little

Miss. When Little Miss assured him she was really telling the truth, he turned to Andrew. "Did you

do this, Andrew?"

"Yes, Sir."

"The design, too?"

"Yes, Sir."

"From what did you copy the design?"

"It is a geometric representation, Sir, that fits the grain of the wood."

The next day, Sir brought him another piece of wood-a larger one-and an electric vibro-knife.

"Make something out of this, Andrew. Anything you want to," he said.

Andrew did so as Sir watched, then looked at the product a long time. After that, Andrew no longer

waited on tables. He was ordered to read books on furniture design instead, and he learned to make

cabinets and desks.

"These are amazing productions, Andrew," Sir soon told him.

"I enjoy doing them, Sir," Andrew admitted.

`Enjoy?"

"It makes the circuits of my brain somehow flow more easily. I have heard you use the word `enjoy'

and the way you use it fits the way I feel. I enjoy doing them, Sir."

Gerald Martin took Andrew to the regional offices of the United States Robots and Mechanical Men

Corporation. As a member of the Regional Legislature he y had no trouble at all in gaining an

interview with the chief robopsychologist. In fact, it was only as a member of the Regional

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