Isaac Asimov - Robot City 3 - Cyborg

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Isaac Asimov's Robot City Book 3: Cyborg
ISAAC ASIMOV'S
ROBOT
CITY
BOOK 3: CYBORG
WILLIAM F. WU
Copyright © 1987
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks for help in writing this novel are due to David M. Harris,
Michael P. Kube-McDowell, Rob Chilson, Alison Telure, my parents, Dr. William
Q. Wu and Cecile F. Wu, and Plus Five Computer Services, Inc.
This novel is dedicated to
Laura J. Lehew
who always remains very special
CYBERNETIC ORGANISM
ISAAC ASIMOV
A robot is a robot and an organism is an organism.
An organism, as we all know, is built up of cells. From the molecular
standpoint, its key molecules are nucleic acids and proteins. These float in a
watery medium, and the whole has a bony support system. It is useless to go on
with the description, since we are all familiar with organisms and since we
are examples of them ourselves.
A robot, on the other hand, is (as usually pictured in science fiction) an
object, more or less resembling a human being, constructed out of strong,
rust-resistant metal. Science fiction writers are generally chary of
describing the robotic details too closely since they are not usually
essential to the story and the writers are generally at a loss how to do so.
The impression one gets from the stories, however, is that a robot is wired,
so that it has wires through which electricity flows rather than tubes through
which blood flows. The ultimate source of power is either unnamed, or is
assumed to partake of the nature of nuclear power.
What of the robotic brain?
When I wrote my first few robot stories in 1939 and 1940, I imagined a
“positronic brain” of a spongy type of platinum-iridium alloy. It was
platinum-iridium because that is a particularly inert metal and is least
likely to undergo chemical changes. It was spongy so that it would offer an
enormous surface on which electrical patterns could be formed and un-formed.
It was “positronic” because four years before my first robot story, the
positron had been discovered as a reverse kind of electron, so that
“positronic” in place of “electronic” had a delightful science-fiction sound.
Nowadays, of course, my positronic platinum-iridium brain is hopelessly
archaic. Even ten years after its invention it became outmoded. By the end of
the 1940s, we came to realize that a robot's brain must be a kind of computer.
Indeed, if a robot were to be as complex as the robots in my most recent
novels, the robot brain-computer must be every bit as complex as the human
brain. It must be made of tiny microchips no larger than, and as complex as,
brain cells.
But now let us try to imagine something that is neither organism nor robot,
but a combination of the two. Perhaps we can think of it as an organism—robot
or “orbot.” That would clearly be a poor name, for it is only “robot” with the
first two letters transposed. To say “orgabot”, instead, is to be stuck with
a rather ugly word.
We might call it a robot-organism, or a “robotanism”, which, again, is ugly,
or “roborg”. To my ears, “roborg” doesn't sound bad, but we can't have that.
Something else has arisen.
The science of computers was given the name “cybernetics” by Norbert Weiner a
generation ago, so that if we consider something that is part robot and part
organism and remember that a robot is cybernetic in nature, we might think of
the mixture as a “cybernetic organism”, or a “cyborg”. In fact, that is the
name that has stuck and is used.
To see what a cyborg might be, let's try starting with a human organism and
moving toward a robot; and when we are quite done with that, let's start with
a robot and move toward a human being.
To move from a human organism toward a robot, we must begin replacing portions
of the human organism with robotic parts. We already do that in some ways. For
instance, a good percentage of the original material of my teeth is now
metallic, and metal is, of course, the robotic substance par excellence .
The replacements don't have to be metallic, of course. Some parts of my teeth
are now ceramic in nature, and can't be told at a glance from the natural
dentine. Still, even though dentine is ceramic in appearance and even, to an
extent, in chemical structure, it was originally laid down by living material
and bears the marks of its origin. The ceramic that has replaced the dentine
shows no trace of life, now or ever.
We can go further. My breastbone, which had to be split longitudinally in an
operation a few years back, was for a time held together by metallic staples,
which have remained in place ever since. My sister-in-law has an artificial
hip-joint replacement. There are people who have artificial arms or legs and
such non-living limbs are being designed, as time passes on, to be ever more
complex and useful. There are people who have lived for days and even months
with artificial hearts, and many more people who live for years with
pacemakers.
We can imagine, little by little, this part and that part of the human being
replaced by inorganic materials and engineering devices. Is there any part
which we would find difficult to replace, even in imagination?
I don't think anyone would hesitate there. Replace every part of the human
being but one—the limbs, the heart, the liver, the skeleton, and so on—and the
product would remain human. It would be a human being with artificial parts,
but it would be a human being.
But what about the brain?
Surely, if there is one thing that makes us human it is the brain. If there is
one thing that makes us a human individual, it is the intensely complex
makeup, the emotions, the learning, the memory content of our particular
brain. You can't simply replace a brain with a thinking device off some
factory shelf. You have to put in something that incorporates all that a
natural brain has learned, that possesses all its memory, and that mimics its
exact pattern of working.
An artificial limb might not work exactly like a natural one, but might still
serve the purpose. The same might be true of an artificial lung, kidney, or
liver. An artificial brain, however, must be the precise replica of the brain
it replaces, or the human being in question is no longer the same human being.
It is the brain, then, that is the sticking point in going from human organism
to robot.
And the reverse?
In my story “The Bicentennial Man”, I described the passage of my robot-hero,
Andrew Martin, from robot to man. Little by little, he had himself changed,
till his every visible part was human in appearance. He displayed an
intelligence that was increasingly equivalent (or even superior) to that of a
man. He was an artist, a historian, a scientist, an administrator. He forced
the passage of laws guaranteeing robotic rights, and achieved respect and
admiration in the fullest degree.
Yet at no point could he make himself accepted as a man. The sticking point,
here, too, was his robotic brain. He found that he had to deal with that
before the final hurdle could be overcome.
Therefore, we come down to the dichotomy, body and brain. The ultimate cyborgs
are those in which the body and brain don't match. That means we can have two
classes of complete cyborgs:
a) a robotic brain in a human body, or
b) a human brain in a robotic body.
We can take it for granted that in estimating the worth of a human being (or a
robot, for that matter) we judge first by superficial appearance.
I can very easily imagine a man seeing a woman of superlative beauty and
gazing in awe and wonder at the sight. “What a beautiful woman,” he will say,
or think, and he could easily imagine himself in love with her on the spot. In
romances, I believe that happens as a matter of routine. And, of course, a
woman seeing a man of superlative beauty is surely likely to react in
precisely the same way.
If you fall in love with a striking beauty, you are scarcely likely to spend
much time asking if she (or he, of course) has any brains, or possesses a good
character, or has good judgment or kindness or warmth. If you find out
eventually that good looks are the person's only redeeming quality, you are
liable to make excuses and continue to be guided, for a time at least, by the
conditioned reflex of erotic response. Eventually, of course, you will tire of
good looks without content, but who knows how long that will take?
On the other hand, a person with a large number of good qualities who happened
to be distinctly plain might not be likely to entangle you in the first place
unless you were intelligent enough to see those good qualities so that you
might settle down to a lifetime of happiness.
What I am saying, then, is that a cyborg with a robotic brain in a human body
is going to be accepted by most, if not all, people as a human being; while a
cyborg with a human brain in a robotic body is going to be accepted by most,
if not all, people as a robot. You are, after all—at least to most people—
what you seem to be.
These two diametrically opposed cyborgs will not, however, pose a problem to
human beings to the same degree.
Consider the robotic brain in the human body and ask why the transfer should
be made. A robotic brain is better off in a robotic body since a human body is
far the more fragile of the two. You might have a young and stalwart human
body in which the brain has been damaged by trauma and disease, and you might
think, “Why waste that magnificent human body? Let's put a robotic brain in it
so that it can live out its life.”
If you were to do that, the human being that resulted would not be the
original. It would be a different individual human being. You would not be
conserving an individual but merely a specific mindless body. And a human
body, however fine, is (without the brain that goes with it) a cheap thing.
Every day, half a million new bodies come into being. There is no need to save
anyone of them if the brain is done.
On the other hand, what about a human brain in a robotic body? A human brain
doesn't last forever, but it can last up to ninety years without falling into
total uselessness. It is not at all unknown to have a ninety-year-old who is
still sharp, and capable of rational and worthwhile thought. And yet we also
know that many a superlative mind has vanished after twenty or thirty years
because the body that housed it (and was worthless in the absence of the
mind) had become uninhabitable through trauma or disease. There would be a
strong impulse then to transfer a perfectly good (even superior) brain into a
robotic body to give it additional decades of useful life.
Thus, when we say “cyborg” we are very likely to think, just about
exclusively, of a human brain in a robotic body—and we are going to think of
that as a robot.
We might argue that a human mind is a human mind, and that it is the mind that
counts and not the surrounding support mechanism, and we would be right. I'm
sure that any rational court would decide that a human-brain cyborg would have
all the legal rights of a man. He could vote, he could be enslaved, and so on.
And yet suppose a cyborg were challenged: “Prove that you have a human brain
and not a robotic brain, before I let you have human rights.”
The easiest way for a cyborg to offer the proof is for him to demonstrate that
he is not bound by the Three Laws of Robotics. Since the Three Laws enforce
socially acceptable behavior, this means he must demonstrate that he is
capable of human (i.e. nasty) behavior. The simplest and most unanswerable
argument is simply to knock the challenger down, breaking his jaw in the
process, since no robot could do that. (In fact, in my story “Evidence”,
which appeared in 1947, I use this as a way of proving someone is not a robot—
but in that case there was a catch.)
But if a cyborg must continually offer violence in order to prove he has a
human brain, that will not necessarily win him friends.
For that matter, even if he is accepted as human and allowed to vote and to
rent hotel rooms and do all the other things human beings can do, there must
nevertheless be some regulations that distinguish between him and complete
human beings. The cyborg would be stronger than a man, and his metallic fists
could be viewed as lethal weapons. He might still be forbidden to strike a
human being, even in self-defense. He couldn't engage in various sports on an
equal basis with human beings, and so on.
Ah, but need a human brain be housed in a metallic robotic body? What about
housing it in a body made of ceramic and plastic and fiber so that it looks
and feels like a human body—and has a human brain besides?
But you know, I suspect that the cyborg will still have his troubles. He'll be
different. No matter how small the difference is, people will seize upon it.
We know that people who have human brains and full human bodies sometimes hate
each other because of a slight difference in skin pigmentation, or a slight
variation in the shape of the nose, eyes, lips, or hair.
We know that people who show no difference in any of the physical
characteristics that have come to represent a cause for hatred, may yet be at
daggers-drawn over matters that are not physical at all, but cultural-
differences in religion, or in political outlook, or in place of birth, or in
language, or in just the accent of a language.
Let's face it. Cyborgs will have their difficulties, no matter what.
CHAPTER 1
THE KEY TO PERIHELION
Derec sighed and ran his hand through his brush-cut sandy hair. “Katherine, I
don’t know if this stupid computer knows who has the Key to Perihelion or not.
Anyhow, if it does, it won’t tell me. I’ve asked it every way I can think
of.” He swiveled his chair away from the computer console to face her.
Katherine looked down at him from where she stood, and shook her head in
apparent disgust. “I didn’t know computers could be stupid,” she said
pointedly.
“Well, this one is,” he muttered lamely, feeling his face grow hot. “Look if
someone else programmed a higher priority of secrecy into the computer, it
won’t answer any questions it was forbidden to answer. I can’t do anything
about that.” He was glad he was seated. She was a bit taller than he, though
he was—he hoped—still growing. He guessed that she was a year or two older
than he was, but that was as uncertain as the rest of her identity...and his.
Derec sprang out of his chair to put some distance between them and started
pacing around the room. Through his manipulation of the computer, he had
ordered the builder robots of Robot City to continue developing the quarters
he and Katherine shared. They had constructed a bedroom for each of them, a
kitchen area, and a console for the computer access equipment he had put
together himself. Now he strode around the perimeter of the office, burning up
nervous energy.
The apartment was hexagonal, and the furniture was shaped from the interior
surface. Light glowed from the ceiling itself in a pleasant, soft diffusion.
The room walls now obscured the elegant shape of the quarters, which resembled
the interior of a crystal, but he and Katherine were more comfortable than
before, and more independent.
Ever since Derec had stopped Robot City from its automatic, frantic, and self-
destructive growth, they had been living in a city that almost resembled a
normal one. Construction now continued at a steady pace, within the capacity
of the city to adjust as it grew. With the Laws of Robotics in effect, the two
humans had a comfortable and safe existence here now.
The First Law of Robotics is: “A robot may not injure a human being, or,
through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.”
“Look, Derec,” said Katherine. “We both want to get off this planet, I guess.
At the moment, we aren’t suffering here. Sure, if we had a ship, we’d be gone
by now. But as long as that Key is our only chance to get away, we simply have
to find it.”
Her tone was milder now, Derec noticed, but he just spun around, turning his
back on her, and went on pacing. Ever since he had found out that she was not
really Katherine Ariel Burgess, as she had told him she was, he had known he
could not trust her. Or, at least, he could only believe her when she was
being sarcastic or condescending. When she sounded pleasant, he had to figure
out what she was up to.
Besides, he still suffered from his amnesia. It was a little too awkward to
demand her identity when he couldn’t even figure out his own. In fact, even
raising the subject was embarrassing. The situation left him perpetually
uneasy. The best place to get away from it was in the computer.
He moved past her and threw himself back into the chair. Then he started
working on the keyboard before he had any idea of what he should do. He just
tried to look busy.
He had declined to construct a VoiceCommand in his terminal, since he felt it
a barrier between him and the labyrinth of the central computer. The computer
was comprised of the top seven planner robots, or Supervisors, in the city,
joined by their communication links. The central core could only be accessed
in the mysterious office inside the Compass Tower, but he had had no use for
it since instructing it to discontinue the excessive building and
shapechanging of the city. Using only his keyboard to access the computer
allowed him to bring up more raw data and to streamline the whole system when
he had the time. Now it also allowed him to tinker silently.
After a moment of concentrating, his discomfort was gone. When he spoke, his
voice was casual. “Actually, this computer really is kind of stupid. Not the
individual Supervisors, of course, but the way they combine their
information. The shapechanging loaded so much data into them so fast that they
recorded it without organizing it. The computer has become too complex to work
well. It needs a lot more streamlining to become efficient.”
“I thought you were streamlining it.”
“When I get the chance,” he snapped, suddenly annoyed again. He was fairly
sure he could make some real progress, given time, but he was tired of her
always questioning his ability with computers. It was the one subject he
actually knew something about, and he had demonstrated it many times over.
Since his amnesia had left him with little knowledge of himself, the knowledge
he did have was very important to him. He had even learned the kind of amnesia
he had, something called “fractionated, retrograde, hypnosis-resistant
psychogenic amnesia”—whatever that meant.
Katherine didn’t say anything, though he remained aware that she was watching
him.
“Well, we are stuck with a rather odd computer, after all,” he said. Her
composure made him self-conscious about his own discomfort. He made an effort
to cool off a little. “Here we are in Robot City, a place built and run and
populated exclusively by robots, and we have no idea of who created it, or
why. I mean, who ever heard of a planet like this?”
“I know,” she said gently. “Derec, we are in this together.”
“Let me explain the computer again. We’re sure the robots have the Key,
because there is no one else here on the planet except us. No—”
“Derec, I know this part,” she said with exaggerated weariness.
“Let me go on. I’m trying to build up to my point. Look, I’ve never
encountered a computer quite like this, and I’m still trying to think through
how to handle it.”
“Go on.”
“The computer obviously is subject to the Three Laws of Robotics, and that
should make it honor my requests for information, under the Second Law. It did
not, probably for two reasons. One is prior programming, where the Second Law
required the robots collectively to keep certain secrets under orders they
received from another human, presumably the creator of Robot City, whoever it
was.”
The Second Law of Robotics is: “ A robot must obey the orders given it by
human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.”
Katherine nodded quietly, now gazing at the floor. “What’s the second reason?”
“The second reason is that the computer system has apparently expanded to the
point where it needs fundamental reorganization to operate efficiently. Too
many parts of the system just don’t seem to know what the other parts know.
All sorts of information is lost in there. Even when it does know the answer
to a question, sometimes the information takes much too long to locate. And I
have to think up special ways of giving orders and asking questions to get it
out.
Katherine lifted her head and smiled. “We’re both getting better at that,
Derec. We’ve had some practice now, especially with individual robots.”
Derec grinned. “I guess I can’t argue with that. So far, the best way to make
the robots cooperate is to convince them that we’re in danger, thus activating
their First Law programming.”
“I know, I know—have you forgotten my charade on Rockliffe Station with that
little alien friend of yours, Wolruf? The trouble is, it’s even harder to
convince them when we’re just debating. I seem to recall that we’ve both gone
a few rounds with various robots that way.”
“That’s true, too.” The positronic brains of the humanoid robots were quite
sophisticated, and debating with their cold logic could be frustrating. “The
Supervisors were so cooperative—within their limits of programming, of course—
that it’s too bad we can’t just try to work with them to get the Key back.”
“They haven’t even admitted that they took it from our hiding place on the
Compass Tower,” said Katherine. “Why would they cooperate with us?”
“I’m sure they wouldn’t, or couldn’t. That’s why we’ll have to try locating
the Key without confronting them. The longer it takes them to realize that
we’re after it, the more freedom we’ll have.”
Despite their current rapport, Derec was afraid that if he didn’t stay on the
computer, Katherine would make more comments about his incompetence. She might
even call him a quitter. Determined not to give her any excuse for that, he
continued to play idly on the keyboard.
Katherine pulled up the other chair—they only had two—and sat down. “Derec,
let’s try to think up some questions I could ask some of the other robots, not
the Supervisors. I know they won’t answer our direct questions about the Key,
but I’ve gotten information out of them before. Like you were saying, we just
have to think up the right questions. Stuff they have to answer because of the
Laws.”
He nodded. “Or else questions they don’t realize will lead us anywhere. The
problem is, that’s what I’ve been trying to do through the computer. I guess I
just don’t know.”
All they really knew about the Key to Perihelion was that it was a
teleportation device and that it had been taken from the place where they had
hidden it. Obviously, the robots had taken it, and so far they had not even
revealed that much information. Since the Key seemed to belong here, or at
least had some special relationship to Robot City, the robots apparently did
not feel that they had stolen it. They were incapable of dishonesty as such.
“We know the robots were searching for the Key for a long time,” said Derec.
“So whatever they’ve done with it must have been part of their long-term
programming.”
He could certainly use her help, but he didn’t know if he trusted her enough
to speak freely. At one point, he had offered to let her use it to leave the
planet while he stayed, and she had chosen to remain here with him. That had
been some time ago, though. Sometimes they seemed very close, but he still
wasn’t sure that if she got to the Key first, she would share its use with
him. She had some kind of chronic physical condition—precisely what kind of
condition was her secret—and she just might be in a bigger hurry to get off
the planet than she claimed.
For that matter, he was worried about her. He wanted to get her some human
medical care, and that meant getting away from Robot City. However, he did not
want to be left behind.
“What they’re doing is obvious,” said Katherine. “They plan to teleport
somewhere. That’s all the Key is good for, as far as we know.”
“But where do they have to go? The planet is all theirs already, except for
us.”
“Oh, Derec.” She sounded exasperated. “At some point, they’re going to
teleport off the planet entirely, just like we want to do.”
“But why—” Derec stopped. They couldn’t possibly know why, because they didn’t
know the robots’ purpose here on the planet in the first place. Discussing the
robots’ motives would not get them very far. “Well, let’s think out loud for a
minute. On the asteroid where they found the Key, they were programmed to
self-destruct when they were under attack. The Key and the element of secrecy
were much more important than the robots or other materials to the person who
programmed them. Cost was absolutely not a real concern. And that programming
was critically important, since it violated the Third Law.”
The Third Law of Robotics is: “ A robot must protect his own existence as long
as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws. “
“So their self-destruction—probably for the purpose of secrecy—must have been
programmed by their creator under the First or Second Laws.” She thought a
moment. “There’s that minimalist engineering again, which you keep talking
about. “
“Now, wait a minute.” He turned in his chair to face her. “Haven’t I already
explained this? When I use that term, I mean these designs that we keep seeing
that make things easy to use, even though the technology may have to be much
more complicated than necessary to make it that easy.” He laughed, glad to
have the advantage on her for a change. “What’s that got to do with robots
melting themselves down into hot puddles of molten junk?”
“Well, it’s the same attitude. It’s not the engineering as such, but the
priorities. The creator of Robot City doesn’t care about conserving
materials.”
“Oh. Well...you might have a point, I suppose. Of course, they have all the
materials they want, since there is no competition here. I...say!” He
suddenly turned back to the console. Without mentioning the Key at all, he
called up the records of supply requisitions. Then he searched out unusual
movements of materials with a top-level priority. Several locations were
given. “Ha! What do you bet they’ve just set up some kind of place to keep the
Key?”
“Yes!” Katherine threw her arms around his neck and gave him a quick squeeze.
“They must have. Considering how important it is, they’ll want it under the
tightest security you ever saw on this planet.” She laughed. “And if we get
too close, maybe these suicidal robots will start melting themselves down into
hot little puddles of molten junk again.”
Derec had stiffened in surprise at her embrace and felt his face grow hot with
embarrassment again. They had been affectionate at times before, but arguments
always seemed to follow. He had no idea how she really felt.
Katherine went on excitedly. “Do you suppose a particular robot is in charge?
That would tell us who to look for.”
Glad to have something else to do, Derec called up a list of duty changes
among the robots. That list included geographical changes of assignment where
they were pertinent. Major changes in reorganization were still taking place
in the wake of the building frenzy that Derec had recently stopped. Now he
correlated that information with the list of locations for which an abundance
of materiel had just been requisitioned. All at once, he had the number of a
single robot. “There it is!”
Katherine was looking over his shoulder. “And, look—it has a huge crew that’s
just been assigned to work under it. Wow, this serial number is a mouthful.”
Normally, robots with a lot of human contact were given language names instead
of numbers or duty designations, but on Robot City the robots had no reason to
assume that human contact would be made with any frequency; only the
Supervisors had been given names.
“Watch this. Let’s see. Key....How about Keymo?” He hit a sequence of keys.
“What did you do?”
“I’ve given it a name. It’ll be easier for us to remember. Now that it’s in
the computer, it’ll respond to that as well as its number. The other robots
can learn it if they ask.”
“I didn’t know you could do that.”
He grinned up at her. “I just figured it out today.”
“Congratulations. Say, Derec....”
“Yeah?”
“Look at the size of that crew it has assembled. What could they possibly be
doing?”
Derec shrugged. “Security? You’re right about that part. The robots will have
that Key guarded heavily.”
“What would they be afraid of on Robot City?” Besides, they can have other
kinds of security systems. They don’t need a bunch of robots just standing
around.”
“You got me, kiddo.”
“What about their last duties? What kind of skills have they specialized in?”
He started calling up a list of their previous duties, and spoke as he worked.
“I know that skills matter to some of the robots, but I’m not sure how much.
Certainly, for information, they can all draw upon the central computer. If
they can manage to get the data out of that tangled contraption, anyone of
them can know practically anything that any robot here knows.” He looked at
the list that came up. “There we are. Hmm—let me try this.” In a couple of
strokes, he had the computer subdivide the list according to previous duties
that the various robots had in common.
“I don’t see much of a pattern,” Katherine admitted after a moment.
Derec shook his head. “I don’t, either. They have all kinds of different
backgrounds.”
“Maybe they have something else in common. Can you ask the computer to tell
you if they have some other common trait?”
“I can ask it anything we can think of.” Derec smiled ruefully. “Whether or
not I get a civilized answer is another matter.” A moment later, he had a new
list in front of them. He looked it over and let out a slow breath. “Wow.”
“It must be the Key,” Katherine said softly.
According to the computer, the robots on this new duty roster had been
selected for their absolute peak efficiency. They had recorded the fewest
breakdowns, the shortest repair times, and the finest work records. Those who
had experienced contact with humans had consistently reached any necessary
decisions regarding the Laws with the least time and effort, though of course
all the robots reached the correct decisions eventually. This team represented
the best robots from all over Robot City.
“This Keymo must be the best of the best,” said Derec, “considering that they
put him in charge. Tangling with this bunch is going to be tough.”
“Think of it this way: if we can talk him out of the Key to Perihelion, we can
talk these robots into anything.”
Derec looked up at her, smiling weakly. When he caught her eye, they both
laughed.
“All right,” Katherine conceded. “If we can talk them out of the Key to
Perihelion, we won’t need anything else from them.”
“We should go to Keymo prepared with an argument.” Derec got up and walked
over to the kitchen area. “ And since we can’t count on finding food outside
our apartment here, we’d better eat first. “ He looked over the limited list
of fare that the chemical processor could simulate. “I’m afraid we’re out of
the fresh produce. We’ll have to request another delivery. Right now, we can’t
afford the time.”
Katherine joined him, peering over his shoulder with a look of distaste.
“That’s another good reason for us to get off this planet. This stuff tastes
terrible. “
“The robots did what they could, I guess. Before we got here, they just had
no reason to concern themselves with cooking. Maybe we’re lucky they could
make a chemical processor that’s even this tolerable.”
“As far as I’m concerned, the best meal out of this machine is the fastest one
I can eat, so I don’t have to taste it any longer than necessary.”
“Fine. We don’t want to waste time, anyway.” Derec entered the code and turned
it on. “Nutrition bars it is—again.”
“I’ll take the fruit punch to drink, though.”
“Yeah—me, too.”
A moment later, they each sat down with a dark brown, warm, rectangular shape.
Each bar had a combination of proteins, carbohydrates, and cellulose that
would fill them up. The taste was more bland than bad. The chemical processor
could also produce more complex meals, which were equally or more nutritious
but also equally bland to the taste. It was no match even for the autogalleys
on ships.
Derec washed down a mouthful of food with simulated fruit punch. At least the
citric acid gave it a strong tang. “If I get the time, I can try ordering the
computer to give me some improvements to try on the processor. The trouble is,
I don’t know what chemicals have to be added to make it taste better...and I
doubt that the central computer knows, either. Robots have sensory
capabilities for analytical purposes, but they don’t care about human gourmet
preferences.”
“If we can get the Key today, we’ll be gone, anyway. Let’s work on that
premise. How are we going to talk Keymo out of the Key?”
“When you put it that way, it sounds a little preposterous, I must admit.
Well...do you have any ideas?” He was hoping to divert her from his own lack
of plans.
“Our only chance is to force him to surrender the Key under some
interpretation of the Laws. So we’ll have to pose an argument to him,
like....” She shrugged, unable to suggest anything.
“If the food were any worse, we could tell him we have to get off the planet
or suffer harm.” Derec laughed.
“The trouble is, it’s not that bad.”
“We can probably figure that the Second Law by itself won’t help us. Like I
said about getting information from the central computer, any request from us
will almost certainly be overridden by prior programming orders under the
Second Law. Whoever created Robot City got his instructions in first.”
Katherine looked down at her glass, and picked it up even though it was empty.
Suddenly she got up and went to the processor to fill it. Then she just stood
there looking at the glass.
Derec had no idea why her manner had just turned chilly. He reflected that it
figured, somehow; just as he became comfortable enough to joke around a
little, she started to withdraw from him again. He watched her without
speaking.
Katherine turned and walked into her room.
Derec, feeling snubbed, did not try to approach her. Instead, he got up and
carried their plates and glasses to the washer. After turning it on, he
straightened up a little and wiped the inside of the chemical processor’s
delivery receptacle. He could not tell what she was doing.
Once again, Derec felt trapped by his own circumstances. Some time ago, he had
awakened in a lifepod from a larger spacecraft with no memory of his name or
his earlier life. Even the name “Derec” had been adopted only so that he
could call himself something. He had had a number of crazy adventures since
that time, but none of them had brought his memory back.
He had met Katherine along the way, and they had formed a partnership of
necessity. After all, even now they were the only humans of the planet, and
shared a desire to get off Robot City. He still found her difficult to deal
with. Nevertheless, if they were going to get off Robot City, they would have
to get the Key to Perihelion. Derec took a deep breath.
“Katherine?”
“Yes.” Her voice was low and listless.
“Are you, urn, feeling okay?”
“Yes!” She spoke sharply, almost too insistently.
“I suppose we ought to go visit Keymo, wherever he is. You still want to go,
don’t you?”
“Of course I want to go,” she snapped, coming to the doorway. “Why wouldn’t I
want to go?”
“I don’t know!” Derec threw up his arms. “Sometimes you’re as big a mystery to
me as the origin of Robot City.”
Katherine pushed past him and turned. “Well?”
“Well what?”
“Are we going now or what? You were in such a big hurry.”
“Sure! Sure, we’re going. I’m in a big hurry to get off this planet, and I
thought you were, too. Come on, let’s go!”
“All right!”
Seething with anger, Derec stalked out of their quarters, aware that she was
摘要：

IsaacAsimov'sRobotCityBook3:CyborgISAACASIMOV'SROBOTCITYBOOK3:CYBORGWILLIAMF.WUCopyright©1987ACKNOWLEDGMENTSSpecialthanksforhelpinwritingthisnovelareduetoDavidM.Harris,MichaelP.Kube-McDowell,RobChilson,AlisonTelure,myparents,Dr.WilliamQ.WuandCecileF.Wu,andPlusFiveComputerServices,Inc.Thisnovelisdedi...

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