Isaac Asimov's Robots and Aliens 4 - Alliance

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Alliance, Isaac Asimov's Robot City - Robots And Aliens Book 4
ISAAC ASIMOV’S
ROBOT CITY
ROBOTS
AND
ALIENS
Alliance by Jerry Oltion
Copyright © 1990
ROBOTS AND FATHERS
ISAAC ASIMOV
All of us began as fertilized ova, obviously. For the first nine months, or
maybe a little less, we existed in a womb which, under normal conditions,
represents about as close to total security as we are likely ever to have.
Unfortunately, we have no way of knowing and appreciating this security at
that time.
We are then brought suddenly into the outside world, with a certain amount of
violence, and are exposed, for the first time, to changes in temperature, to
the rough touch of moving air, to breathing, drinking and eliminating only
with effort (however instinctive and automatic that effort might be). The womb
is forever gone.
Nevertheless, each of us, if we have had a normal infancy, has parents; a
mother, in particular, who labors to substitute for the womb as much as
possible. We are all nearly helpless, but mothers and, to some extent,
fathers, if enlightened, see that we are warm, comfortable, fed, washed,
dried, and given a chance to sleep undisturbed. It is still not bad, and we
are still in no condition to appreciate our good fortune.
Then comes the stage when we are aware of our surroundings. Still small, still
largely helpless, we become able to understand the dangers that on us press;
we become capable of feeling fear and panic; we become able to grasp, however
dimly, the discomfort of loss or threatened loss, and the anguish of
unfulfilled desire.
Even then, there is a means of relief and redress. There are the looming
figures of father and mother (and, to a far lesser extent, older siblings, if
any). We have all seen young children clinging to a father’s leg desperately,
or peeping out from behind a mother’s clutched skirt at the fearful sight of
other human beings or almost any other kind of novel experience. We see them
(and perhaps we can think of ourselves in the dim earliest memories we have)
rushing to mother or father as the all-encompassing security.
I remember my daughter, Robyn, at the comparatively advanced age of fourteen,
telling me how she had taken an airplane under threatening weather conditions.
When I registered fear and terror at what might have been the consequences,
she said, calmly, “I wasn’t afraid, because Mamma was with me and I knew she
wouldn’t allow anything to happen to me.”
And when she was nineteen, she was temporarily marooned in Great Britain’s
Heathrow airfield because of a “work action.” She called me long distance
(collect) to tell me of her sad plight and said, with sublime confidence, “Do
something!” I was about to try when they announced her plane was taking off
and I did not have to reveal my inability to move mountains.
It is inevitable, however, that all children reach the stage where they
realize that their parents are but human beings and are not creatures of
ultimate ability and wisdom. Most children learn it a lot sooner than mine did
because I went to considerable pains to play the role.
Whenever children learn of their parents’ fallibility and weakness, there is
bound to be a terrible feeling of loss. The loss is so intense that there is
an inevitable search for a substitute, but where can you find it?
Primitive man naturally argued by analogy. If human beings can puff their
breath outward, then the wind (an enormous puff of breath) must be the
exhalation of a vast supernatural being like a human being but immensely
larger and more powerful, a windgod. By similar arguments, an incredible array
of supernatural entities were built up—an entire imaginary Universe.
To begin with, it was assumed that these supernatural beings were as
contentious, as irascible, as illogical, as passion-ridden as were the human
beings on whom they were modeled. They had to be placated endlessly,
flattered, praised and bribed into behaving kindly. It was, I suppose, a great
advance when the idea arose that a supernatural being might be naturally kind,
merciful and loving, and would want to help and cherish human beings.
And when that happened, human beings at last found the father they had lost as
they grew up—not the actual, fallible, human father who might still be alive
(and a fat lot of good he was), but the superhuman, all-encompassing, all-
knowing, all-powerful father they had had as an infant.
Thus, in the Sermon on the Mount, Jesus repeatedly refers to “your Father
which is in heaven.” Of course, it might be argued that the term “Father” is
used metaphorically, rather than literally, but metaphors are not developed
without reason.
“Fathers” are also found at lower levels than that of a supreme God, since the
search for lost security can move in many directions. The representatives of
God on Earth may get the title, too. “Pope” is a form of the word “Papa” (it
is “papa” in Italian), which is a common word for “father” in many Indo-
European languages. And lest the point be lost, he is also called “the Holy
Father.” Roman Catholic priests and High Church Episcopalian priests are also
addressed as “Father.”
The early theological scholars of the Catholic Church are called “the Fathers
of the Church.” It is even possible to look at certain purely secular
individuals who are regarded with particular veneration in that fashion. We
speak of the “Pilgrim Fathers,” for instance.
We lend the name to Earthly abstractions, too. If one is particularly
sentimental about one’s place of birth, its land, its customs, its culture,
how can one better describe it than as the “Fatherland.” The Germans have done
so with such assiduity and so loudly (“Vaterland”) that the word has come to
mean Germany, in particular, and that has made it hard for other nations to
use it. We can still speak of the “Motherland” or the “Mother Country,”
however. The feminine symbolism bespeaks not so much the sword and spear as
the flowing breasts—so perhaps “Motherland” is the healthier metaphor.
The words for “father” and “mother” show up as metaphors in hidden form (for
us) because they lurk behind Greek and Latin. The rulers of Rome were the
surrogate “fathers” of the State (and pretty lousy and selfish fathers they
were). They were “patricians” from the Latin word “pater,” meaning “father.”
From “pater,” we also get the Latin word for “fatherland,” so that now we know
what a “patriot” is.
A Greek city often sent out colonists who founded other cities which were,
essentially, independent, but which often harbored a sentimental attachment
for “the mother-city.”
The Greek word for city is “polis” and for mother is “meter.” The mother-city
is therefore the “metropolis.” Nowadays, the name is used for any large city
dominating a region and the thought is lost—but it’s there.
But has any of this anything to do with robots which are, after all, the
subject of my introductions to the series of novels which are brought together
under the generic title of “Robot City”?
Surely you can guess. To use mathematical terminology: parent is to child as
human being is to robot.
Suppose we rephrase the Three Laws of Robotics and have it the Three Laws of
Children, instead.
The First Law would read: A child must not do harm to its parents or, by
inaction, allow its parents to come to harm.
One of the Ten Commandments is that we must honor our father and our mother.
When I was brought up (by immigrant parents steeped in Talmudic lore), doing
my parents harm was unthinkable and, believe me, the thought never occurred to
me. In fact, even being impudent was a terrible thing that would have
blackened the Universe for me. And, you know, matricide and patricide have
always been viewed as among the most horrible, if not the most horrible, of
all crimes.
Even if we consider God as the Divine Father, the First Law holds. We can’t
conceivably do physical harm to God, but, presumably, if we sin, we cause Him
the Divine equivalent of pain and sorrow, so we must be careful not to do
that.
The Second Law would read: A child must obey the orders given him by his
parents, unless that would violate the First Law.
That’s obvious. In modern lax and permissive times, we forget, but parents
always expect to be obeyed, and in more rigid times—in the days of the Romans
or Victorians—they went all apoplectic and psychotic if they were not. Roman
fathers had the power of life and death over their children, and I imagine
death for disobedience was not completely unheard of. And we all know that God
reserves places in Hell for disobedient sinners.
The Third Law would read: A child must protect its own existence, unless that
would violate the First or Second Laws.
To us, it is rather unthinkable that a parent would expect a child to die or
even to suffer injury in the protection of his parents or his obedience to
them (thus refraining from violating First and Second Laws). Rather, parents
are likely to risk their own lives for their children.
But consider the Divine Father. In the more rigid Godcentered religions, such
as Judaism, Christianity, and Islam, it is expected that human beings will
readily, and even joyously, suffer harm all the way to death by torture rather
than transgress the least of God’s commandments. Jews, Christians, and Moslems
have all gone to their death sturdily rather than do such apparently harmless
things as eat bacon, throw a pinch of incense on an idolatrous altar,
acknowledge the wrong person as Caliph, and so on. There, one must admit, the
Third Law holds.
If, then, we wish to know how robots would react to the loss of human beings,
we must see how human beings react to the loss of all-wise, all-powerful
parents. Human beings have to find substitutes that supply the loss, and,
therefore, so must robots. This is really an obvious thought and is rarely put
forward only because most people are very nervous about seeming to be
blasphemous. However, back in mo, that magnificent iconoclast, Voltaire, said,
“If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him.” And if I may be
permitted to paddle my rowboat in the wake of Voltaire’s ocean liner, I make
bold to agree with him.
It follows, then, that if robots are stranded in a society which contains no
human beings, they will do their best to manufacture some. Naturally, there
may be no consensus as to what a human being looks like, what its abilities
are, and how intelligent it might be. We would expect, then, that all sorts of
paths would be taken, all sorts of experiments would be conducted.
After all, think how many gods—and with what variety of nature, appearance and
ability—have been invented by human beings who had never seen one, but wanted
one desperately just the same. With all that in mind, read the fourth entry in
the “Robots and Aliens” series.
CHAPTER 1
NEW BEGINNINGS
“So, have you decided on a new name yet?”
“Yes.”
Derec waited expectantly for a moment, then looked around in exasperation from
the newfound robot to his companions. Ariel and Dr. Avery were both grinning.
Wolruf, a golden-furred alien of vaguely doglike shape, was also grinning in
her own toothy way. Beside Wolruf stood two more robots, named Adam and Eve.
Neither of them seemed amused.
The entire party stood in the jumbled remains of the City Computer Center. It
was a testament to Dr. Avery’s engineering skills that the computer still
functioned at all, but despite the thick layer of dust over everything and the
more recent damage from the struggle to subdue the renegade robot that now
stood obediently before them, it still hummed with quiet efficiency as it
carried out Avery’s orders to reconstruct the city the robot had been in the
process of dismantling.
The robot had originally called itself the Watchful Eye, but Derec had tired
of that mouthful almost immediately and had ordered it to come up with
something better. Evidently the robot had obeyed, but....
“Ask a simple question,” Derec muttered, shaking his head, but before he could
ask a more specific one, such as what the new name might be, the robot spoke
again.
“I have chosen the name of a famous historical figure. You may have heard of
him. Lucius, the first creative robot in Robot City, who constructed the work
of art known as ‘Circuit Breaker.’”
“Lucius?” Derec asked, surprised. He had heard of Lucius, of course, had in
fact solved the mystery of Lucius’s murder, but a greater gulf than that which
existed between the historical figure and this robot was hard to imagine.
Lucius had been an artist, attempting to bring beauty to an otherwise sterile
city, while this robot had created nothing but trouble.
“That is correct. However, to avoid confusion I have named myself ‘Lucius II.’
That is ‘two’ as in the numeral, not ‘too’ as in ‘also.’”
“Just what we need,” Or. Avery growled. “Another Lucius.” Avery disliked
anything that disrupted his carefully crafted plan for Robot City, and
Lucius’s creativity had disrupted it plenty. In retaliation, Avery had removed
the creative impulse from all of the city’s robots. He looked at his new
Lucius, this Lucius II, as if he would like to remove more than that from it.
The robot met his eyes briefly, its expression inscrutable, then turned to the
two other robots in the group surrounding it.
“We should use speech when in the presence of humans,” Adam said after a
moment, and Derec realized that Lucius II had been speaking via comlink.
“Is this your judgment or an order given to you by humans?” asked Lucius II.
“Judgment,” replied Adam.
“Does it matter?” Ariel asked.
“Yes. If it had been an order, I would have given it higher priority, though
not as high as if it had been an order given directly to me. In that case it
would become a Second Law obligation.”
The Second Law of Robotics stated that a robot must obey the orders of human
beings unless those orders conflicted with the First Law, which stated that a
robot could not harm a human or through inaction allow a human to come to
harm. Those, plus the Third Law, which stated that a robot must act to
preserve its own existence as long as such protection did not conflict with
the first two Laws, were built into the very structure of the hardware that
made up the robot’s brain. They could not disobey them without risking
complete mental freeze-up.
Derec breathed a soft sigh of relief at hearing Lucius II refer to the Second
Law. It was evidence that he intended to obey it, and, by implication, the
other two as well. Despite his apparent obedience since they had stopped him,
Derec hadn’t been so sure.
Lucius II was still his own robot, all the same. Ariel’s question had been an
implicit Second-Law order to answer, and he had done so, but now that he had
fulfilled that obligation, Lucius II again turned to Adam and Eve and said,
“We seem to have much in common.” As he spoke, his features began to change,
flowing into an approximation of theirs.
Adam, Eve, and Lucius II were not ordinary robots. Where ordinary robots were
constructed of rigid metal and plastics, these three were made of tiny cells,
much like the cells that make up a human body. The robot cells were made of
metal and plastic, certainly, but that was an advantage rather than a
limitation, since the robot cells were much more durable than organic cells
and could link together in any pattern the central brain chose for them. The
result was that the robots could take on any shape they wished, could change
their features—or even their gross anatomy—at will.
The other robots in Robot City, with one exception, were also made of cells,
but Dr. Avery’s programming restricted them to conservative robot forms. Not
so with these three. They were not of Avery’s manufacture, and without his
restriction they used their cellular nature far more than the City robots,
forgoing hard angles, joints and plates in favor of smooth curves and smooth,
continuous motion. They looked more like metal-coated people than like the
stiff-jointed caricatures of men that were normal robots, but even those
features weren’t constant. They imprinted on whomever was foremost in their
consciousness at the time, becoming walking reflections of Derec or Ariel or
Avery, or even the alien Wolruf.
At the moment, Adam mimicked Derec’s features and Eve mimicked Ariel’s. Lucius
II, his imprinting programming struggling for control in unfamiliar company,
was a more generic blend of features.
Derec found it unnerving to watch the robot’s face shift uncertainly between a
copy of a copy of his own and of Ariel’s. He decided to get the thing to focus
its attention on him, and said, “One thing you all have in common is that
you’re all a lot of trouble. Lucius—Lucius II,” he added, emphasizing the “II”
as if making a great distinction between the former robot and his namesake, “—
did you give any thought to what you were destroying when you started this—
this project of yours?”
“I did.”
“Didn’t you care?”
“I do not believe I did, at least not in the sense you seem to give the word.
However, you may be surprised to know that my motive was to restore the city
to normal operations. “
“By destroying it?” Avery demanded.
“By rebuilding it. The city was not functioning normally when I awakened here.
It was designed to serve humans, but until you arrived, there were no humans.
Therefore, I set out to create them. In the process, I found that the city
required modification. I was engaged in making those modifications when you
stopped me.”
“What you made was a long way from human,” Ariel said.
Lucius II had nearly adjusted his features to match Derec’s; now they began to
shift toward Ariel’s again. “You saw only the homunculi,” he said. “They were
simple mechanical tests run to determine whether complete social functions
could be programmed into the later, fully protoplasmic humans. Unfortunately,
they proved too limited to answer the question, but the human-making project
has enjoyed better success.”
In the voice of someone who wasn’t sure she wanted to know, Ariel asked, “What
do you mean? What have you done?”
By way of answer, the robot turned toward the computer terminal at Avery’s
side. He didn’t need the keyboard, but sent his commands directly via comlink.
By the time everyone else realized what he was doing, he had an inside view of
a large, warehouselike building on the monitor. The building was missing a
corner, torn completely away in the destruction of only a few minutes earlier,
but they could still see what Lucius had intended to show them.
The floor was acrawl with small, furry, ratlike creatures. Lucius II said,
“Whereas the homunculi you saw and dissected were completely robotic, and
were, as you said, ‘a long way from human,’ these are actual living animals.
In fact, they each carry in their cells the entire genetic code for a human
being—all twenty-three chromosome pairs—but certain genes for intelligence and
physical appearance have been modified for the test run. Once I am convinced
that the process has no hidden flaws, I will use the unmodified genes to
create humans for the city to serve.”
“You will do no such thing!” Dr. Avery demanded. “That is an order. When I
want humans here, I will put them here myself.”
“I will comply with your order. However, you should know that there was no
indication of your wishes in the central computer’s programming.”
“There will be,” Avery promised. Derec suppressed a grin. No matter how much
he denied it, his father’s city was still in the experimental stages as well.
He and Derec had both had to make many modifications in its programming to
keep it developing properly. True, the complications Lucius II had brought
about were not Avery’s doing, but the city robots’ underlying desire to find
and serve humans—and thus, in a sense, Lucius’s project—was.
Ariel was staring, horrified, at the creature on the screen as it picked up a
scrap of something between its teeth and scuttled out the hole in the wall and
out of sight. “That’s human?” she whispered.
“Not at all,” Lucius II said. “It merely uses altered human genes.”
“That’s—that’s awful. It was human, but you twisted it into something else.”
“It was never anything other than what it is.”
“It could have been!”
“Certainly. The raw materials making up this city could also have been used to
produce more humans. So could a large percentage of the atmosphere. However,
the depleted resources that would result from such a usage would not support
those humans in any degree of comfort. I made a logical deduction that no
thinking being would wish for every combination of chemicals that could
possibly become human to actually do so. Was I in error?”
“Yes!” Ariel stared at him a moment, slowly realizing the true meaning of what
she’d said, and went on, “I mean, no, you weren’t in error in that particular
conclusion, but to apply it to already-formed genes is different.”
“The genes existed only as information patterns in a medical file until I
synthesized them.”
“I don’t care! They were still—”
“Hold it,” interrupted Derec. “This is neither the time nor the place for a
philosophical discussion of what makes a human. We can do that just as well at
home, where we’re more comfortable.” Of his father, he asked, “Have you
finished your reprogramming?”
“For the time being,” Avery replied. “There’s more yet to be done, but there’s
no sense fiddling with the details until the major features are restored.”
“Then let’s go home. Come on.” Derec led the way out of the computer center,
through the jumble of wreckage in the corridors—wreckage that robot crews were
already at work cleaning up and repairing—and out into the street.
The destruction outside was less evident than what they had seen in the
computer center. Entire buildings were missing, to be sure, but in a city that
had changed its shape as often as Adam or Eve changed their features, that was
no indication of damage. Only the pieces of buildings lying in the street
revealed that anything was amiss, and even as they watched, those pieces whose
individual cells were still functional began to melt into the surface,
rejoining with the city to become part of its general building reserve once
again. A few fragments were too damaged to rejoin, but robots were already at
work cleaning those up as well, loading them into trucks and hauling them back
to the recycling plant.
Avery smiled at the sight, and Derec knew just what was going through his
mind. Transmogrifying robots meant nothing to him; entire cities were his
palette.
A row of transport booths waited at the curb just outside the computer
center’s doorway. The booths were just big enough for one passenger each,
little more than meter-wide transparent cylinders to stand in while the
magnetic levitation motors in the base whisked their passengers to their
destinations. They were a new design, completely enclosed and free-roaming
rather than open to the air and following tracks like the booths Derec was
used to. Either the destruction had been too great to allow using the track
system immediately, and these booths were a temporary measure until the old
system was restored, or the City had taken advantage of the opportunity to
change the design and this was to be the style from now on. It didn’t matter
to Derec either way. The booths were transportation, whatever their shape.
Derec boarded one, felt it bob slightly under his weight, and grasped the
handhold set into the console at waist level. “Home,” he said to the speaker
grille beside the handle, trusting the central computer to recognize his voice
and check his current address.
Through his internal link with the city computers, he expanded the order.
Bring the others to the same destination, he sent, turning around to focus on
the other members of the group, who were each boarding booths of their own. He
sent the image with his order, thus defining which “others” he was talking
about.
It was probably unnecessary in all but Lucius II’s case, since everyone else
knew where they were going, but it never hurt to be certain.
Acknowledged, came the response.
On a whim, Derec sent, Patch me into receivers in the other booths in this
party.
Patched in.
He could have listened in without going through the computer, but his internal
comlink got harder and harder to control the more links he opened with it.
Much easier to keep one link open to the computer and let it make the multiple
connection.
Derec heard Ariel echo his first command: “Home.” Or. Avery boarded his booth
and stood on the platform in silence. Derec smiled. His father was always
testing him. Now he was waiting to see if Derec had had the presence of mind
to program all the booths.
Send Dr. Avery to same destination via Compass Tower, emergency speed. Do not
accept his override, he sent.
Acknowledged.
The Compass Tower was a tall pyramid a few blocks away from Derec and Ariel’s
home. Before moving in with Ariel and Derec, Avery had had an office/apartment
in the apex of it; perhaps he would think that the literal-minded
transportation computer had misunderstood Derec’s order and was taking
everyone to their own homes instead of Derec’s. He wouldn’t realize Derec had
played a trick on him until the transport booth failed to stop there. Nor
would he be able to change the booth’s destination; Derec’s command carried
exactly the same weight as would his, so the computer would follow the first
order received. It was a subtle warning, one Avery would probably not even
perceive, but Derec was fed up with his father’s little tests, and lately he
had taken to thwarting every one of them he could. Avery would never
consciously decide to quit, but subliminally, where the impulse to see his son
prove himself originated, perhaps he could be conditioned.
Wolruf stepped aboard her booth, saying in her deep voice,” Follow Derec.”
Derec’s booth had already started to move, but he could still hear the
communications going on behind him.
Adam, via comlink, sent, 8284-490-23. The apartment’s coordinates.
Eve sent, Follow Adam. Interesting, Derec thought. Adam would rather give the
coordinates than admit to following a human, even though he was compelled to
do it. Eve, of course, would follow Adam to the end of the universe.
Lucius II, on the other hand...
Lucius II sent, Manual control.
Denied, the computer responded.
Why denied?
Human command override. Derec has already programmed your destination.
I may also be human. I wish manual control.
Derec’s eyebrows shot up. What was this? He’d just convinced the silly thing
it was a robot less than half an hour ago!
A loud voice interrupted. “Hey, where are you going?” It was Avery. “Cancel
destination! Stop! Let me—”
Not now!
Cancel link to Avery, Derec sent.
Link cancelled, the computer replied, and Avery’s voice cut off in mid-word.
The computer had been simultaneously responding to Derec and continuing its
conversation with Lucius. Derec heard—reason for believing that you are human.
I was grown, not assembled, Lucius II responded. I am a thinking being, with
wishes and desires of my own. My connection to the city computer is completely
voluntary.I perceive my own intellectual potentials independent of my
programming.
Visual scanning shows that you are composed of the same cellular material as
Robot City robots, or a variant thereof. You are not human.
Lucius II replied, A robotic exterior means nothing. Check your memory for
Jeff Leong.
Derec gripped the handhold in his transport booth with enough tension to pull
a lesser handle from the wall. Jeff Leong! Did Lucius II really think he was a
cyborg like Jeff, a human brain in a robot body? And how had he known of Jeff,
anyway? That whole incident was long past; Jeff had his human body back again
and was off to college on another planet.
Obviously, Lucius had been digging through the computer, accessing records of
the City’s past, records that Derec had been painstakingly replacing after
Dr.Avery had wiped them in his reprogramming over a year ago. It had been
Derec’s intention to give the City computer—and the robots who used it—the
continuous memory of its past that he couldn’t have for himself, but that
might not have been such a good idea after all, he thought now. Some memories
could be dangerous.
Argument understood, the computer responded. It is possible that you are
human. However, I cannot give you manual control even so. Derec’s order takes
precedence.
This time, it did. But if Lucius II began issuing orders of his own, next time
it might be Derec whose orders weren’t obeyed. That wouldn’t do.
Lucius II is not human, Derec sent. He is a robot of the same nature as Adam
and Eve.
Acknowledged.
Derec’s transport booth slowed, banked around a corner, and accelerated again.
Behind him the others, minus Dr. Avery, executed the same maneuver.
Cancel link to other booths, Derec sent.
Acknowledged.
Derec cancelled his own link to the computer, then focused his attention on
the last booth in the line and sent directly, Lucius, this is Derec.
Is there another Lucius, or do you mean me, Lucius II?
I mean you. The original Lucius is—Derec was about to say “dead,” but thought
better of it. No sense fueling the robot’s misconceptions with imprecise
language.—inoperative, he sent. That means there isn’t much chance for
confusion. I will simply call you “Lucius” unless circumstances warrant your
full title.
I have no objection. I was not aware that you had a comlink.
There are lots of things you don’t know about me. Or about yourself, I
believe.
That is true.
I have information you can use.
What information?
You’re wrong in assuming you’re human. You are an advanced experimental design
of robot, just like Adam and Eve.
How do you know this?
I’m the son of the woman who created you.
Lucius thought about that for a long moment. Perhaps we are brothers, he said
at last.
Derec laughed. I’m afraid not.
Perhaps we should ask our mother.
I wish we could, Derec replied.
Why can’t we?
Because I don t know where she is.
What is her name?
I don’t know that, either.
What do you know about her?
Very little. I have an induced state of amnesia.
This is unfortunate.
Isn’t it, though? Derec thought. In a way, his and Lucius’s past—and Adam’s
and Eve’s as well—were very similar. The robots had been planted on three
different worlds with nothing more than their basic programming and inherent
abilities. It had been up to them to discover their purpose in life, if life
is what you wanted to call robot existence.
Similarly, Derec had awakened in a spaceship’s survival pod on an ice
asteroid, without even the memory of his own name. “Derec” was the name on his
spacesuit, a name he had kept even after finding that it was the name of the
suit’s manufacturer. Like Lucius, he had found himself with only robots for
company and questions for comfort. In the time since, he had discovered a few
things about himself, most notably that his father was responsible for his
condition—it was to be the ultimate “test” of his son’s worthiness—but on the
whole he had found out pitifully little about his identity. Even now, with his
father cured of his megalomania, he still had more questions than answers.
No wonder Lucius had suspected he might be human. For a time, Derec had
wondered if he was a robot. In some cases it was a slippery distinction.
I, too, lack a past, Lucius sent.
Learn to like it, Derec replied.
Avery was waiting for them when they arrived. Derec wondered how he had
managed that, then realized that it was his own doing. He had sent him off at
high speed. Even the long way can be a shortcut if you go fast enough.
“Very funny,” Avery said as Derec stepped from his booth.
Derec grinned. “You needed to loosen up.”
“I’ll remember that.” Avery turned and stalked into the apartment building,
determined, Derec was sure, to do nothing of the sort.
Derec waited for the others to climb out of their booths, then followed after
Avery. The apartment was on the top floor of what was currently a twenty-floor
tower, but the height was subject to change without notice. Derec had
considered ordering the City to leave the building alone, but in the end had
decided against it. Variety was the spice of life, after all. Why should he
care how tall the building was? On days when it was too tall for stairs, he
could always use the elevator.
Avery had already done so, but the car was already descending again. When it
arrived, Derec and everyone else packed into it, and Derec commanded it to
take them to the top.
The apartment filled the entire floor. The elevator opened into a skylit
atrium filled with plants, surrounding a fountain that Derec had copied from
an ancient design. From either side of the pool a solid stream of water arched
upward in a parabola, the two streams carefully balanced to meet in the middle
and spray outward in a vertical sheet of water. Derec was about to lead on
past it, but Lucius paused when he saw it, then reached out and interrupted
the path of one stream of water with a hand. The last of the stream continued
upward as if nothing had happened, but when the gap reached the center, the
other beam arched over to splash against the top of Lucius’s hand, just
opposite the other water beam. It was obvious that the two beams followed
exactly the same trajectory, and could meet anywhere along their paths.
Lucius removed his hand and the two streams met headon again, the point of
contact slowly climbing back up to the center.
“Interesting,” he said.
“I call it ‘Negative Feedback,’ “ Derec replied. Unable to resist a little
dig, he added, “It’s a useful principle. Think about it.”
If Lucius understood his implication, he gave no sign of it. “I will,” he
promised.
Ariel walked on past them, through a massive simulated-wood double door and
into the apartment itself. It was a palace. The living room took up one whole
quarter of the floor, its glass walls on two sides affording a view of half
the city stretching out to the horizon. From the main entryway, a wide,
curving hallway led off into the rest of the apartment, one glass wall facing
the atrium and the other studded with doors leading into the library, computer
room, bedrooms, video room, dining room, kitchen, game room, fitness room,
swimming pool, and on into unused space that remained unused only because no
one could think of anything else they wanted to fill it with.
The apartment was big and ostentatious, far more than three humans and an
alien needed, but as the only inhabitants of an entire city full of robots
they had decided to enjoy it. In this particular instance, there seemed little
advantage in moderation.
Another robot waited for them in the apartment: Mandelbrot, Ariel and Derec’s
personal robot. Mandelbrot was a standard Auroran model, made of levers and
gears and servo motors, save where damage to his right arm had been repaired
with an arm salvaged from a Robot City robot. That arm could have been any
shape Mandelbrot—or his masters—wished, but he had chosen to make it match his
other arm as closely as possible.
“You beat us home,” Derec said when he saw him. Mandelbrot had been in the
Compass Tower, helping direct the city’s reconstruction from there.
“I left as soon as my task was finished, reasoning that you would come here
soon after,” the robot replied.
“Right, as usual,” Derec said, patting Mandelbrot’s metal shoulder in easy
camaraderie. He nodded toward Lucius. “Here’s our troublesome renegade,
ordered to behave and given a new name to remind him of it. Mandelbrot, meet
Lucius.”
“Hello, Lucius,” Mandelbrot said.
“I am more properly called ‘Lucius II,’ “ Lucius said, “to distinguish me from
the artist; however, Derec has pointed out that among those who realize the
original Lucius is no longer operative, there is little danger of confusion in
calling me simply ‘Lucius.’”
摘要：

Alliance,IsaacAsimov'sRobotCity-RobotsAndAliensBook4ISAACASIMOV’SROBOTCITYROBOTSANDALIENSAlliancebyJerryOltionCopyright©1990ROBOTSANDFATHERSISAACASIMOVAllofusbeganasfertilizedova,obviously.Forthefirstninemonths,ormaybealittleless,weexistedinawombwhich,undernormalconditions,representsaboutasclosetoto...

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